


Stranger in a Strange Land

by soulfulsin



Series: Night of the Hunter [5]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-01-16 18:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18527002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulfulsin/pseuds/soulfulsin
Summary: Steelbeak and Black Heron have finally left Webby alone. Is it possible for Webby to be on a normal SHUSH mission without her past coming back to haunt her?Spoiler alert--of course not.





	1. Chapter 1

As a former FOWL agent in training, Webby was disused to the SHUSH briefings. She wasn’t a SHUSH agent, not yet; she was on probation. Ludwig von Drake had considered her working for SHUSH part of her rehabilitation. SHUSH finally trusted her enough to go on a mission, albeit with a chaperone. Agent 22 was to accompany her and Launchpad was piloting. Though her grandmother had warned the boys against interfering, Webby suspected that Dewey might find a way to sneak along. That didn’t worry her as much as it should.

 

Even if he wasn’t always the sharpest tool in the shed, Webby enjoyed his company. Three months had passed since Taurus Bulba had appeared at the manor and his arm had healed. He didn’t regard the experience with the terror Webby had felt. Instead, he considered it a harrowing escape that he thrilled in. Della didn’t agree and things had been rocky between the triplets’ mother and Webby ever since.

 

In the three months that had passed, as no more FOWL interests arose, Della relaxed her guard a little. Webby knew, rationally, that it wasn’t her fault that FOWL retained an interest in her. Emotionally, it was a different story. Though the feeling came less and less often, she felt the need to flee burning within her on occasion. It was then she usually sought out Dewey or Lena or, rarely, her grandmother. She didn’t hate her grandmother, she didn’t love her; her emotions were complicated regarding Agent 22 and she suspected they would be tumultuous for a while yet.

 

This FOWL agent was unknown to her, which came as a shock. She thought she’d known everyone who worked in FOWL. The agent, called the Carver, had gained prominence in the last few months, after Webby’s escape. No one knew what he looked like or his motives, but he intended to create an army of mindless supersoldiers to conquer the world. As of yet, no one knew how he meant to do that, either. Information on him was scarce and they didn’t have the luxury of inserting a spy into FOWL’s ranks. Webby’s position on FOWL was all too clear.

 

As Ludwig droned on, she glanced at her grandmother, who had already memorized the briefing sheet. Webby had too, though she pretended to pay attention to von Drake, who was now showing her the new gadgets SHUSH had come up with. Webby didn’t need gadgets. For the first time in months, her grandmother had deemed it necessary for her to carry her weapons and it felt so good to have them on her hips. It made the boys leery, excepting Dewey who was cocky to the end, but it soothed her nerves. It was unlikely she’d get jumped in McDuck Manor, but the weapons were like a security blanket. They didn’t bring up pleasant memories, though they did remind her she wasn’t defenseless.

 

“Honestly, I don’t know why I bother to hold briefings if you’ve both memorized the information!” he snapped, jolting them.

 

“I thought it was protocol?” Mrs. Beakley asked, raising her eyebrows. “I certainly didn’t think you were doing it for our benefit.”

 

Ludwig von Drake grumbled something about being extraneous and huffed, storming out. He left the gadgets on the table and Webby poked at what looked like a water pistol. It shot out a cloud of noxious powder that she and her grandmother were careful to steer clear of. All right, perhaps she ought to have been paying a bit more attention. Embarrassed, she glanced at 22, who was frowning thoughtfully. Webby’s phone buzzed in her pocket; she hadn’t changed her number, not even after the FOWL agents had gained her information. All of her calls were routed through McDuck Industries’ satellite now, so they were being screened. That went for texts too, which meant there was usually a five-second delay between them being sent and then being received.

 

She’d been given the option of changing her phone number and she didn’t know why she hadn’t. It wasn’t like she wanted to speak with Steelbeak again. He’d made his stance on her clear. He didn’t love her. He considered her a possession, a trophy from the night he’d conquered a SHUSH agent. Considering him that way turned her stomach and she pushed the thought away, as she always did.

 

“Nervous?” her grandmother asked.

 

“No, not really. Just trying to figure out who the ‘Carver’ is. Wondering if it’s someone I know.”

 

Mrs. Beakley squeezed her shoulder. “It’s normal to be nervous before your first assignment. You’ll do fine. Follow my lead and everything will work out.”

 

“Assuming Dewey doesn’t stow away in the baggage,” she said with a wry smile.

 

“Oh, he’d better not. I have no tolerance for tag-a-longs, especially when they threaten the integrity of the mission.”

 

She nodded, though she secretly hoped Dewey would come along anyway. She didn’t want to be alone with her grandmother, not for too long. Her chest tightened and she questioned whether she might attack her or how much her grandmother really cared for her or if she was just a means to an end, like how Steelbeak viewed her. She knew her grandmother didn’t think that way, but the lesson hadn’t sunk in. It floated there in her mind and she suppressed a shudder. Her grandmother was trustworthy. Maybe it was Webby who wasn’t.

 

“Hey.” She squeezed her shoulder again and released it. Then, seeing as they were alone, she hugged her tightly. “I’m never going to get used to this. I hated how much I took for granted hugs when you were younger and then when I lost you…”

 

“I know,” she said softly, subdued.

 

She pulled away, holding her granddaughter at arm’s length. “You have a good heart. Never doubt that. You are a good person, Webbigail Vanderquack.”

 

“I know.”

 

“But you don’t believe it. Do you believe Dewey when he says it?”

 

“Sometimes.”

 

Not really. She wanted to believe him because she loved him and she knew he loved her, but it was complicated. The problem, she feared, was that her upbringing had filled her with doubts that she couldn’t discard, even after a few months. They might plague her for the rest of her life.

 

Mrs. Beakley brushed her granddaughter’s hair away from her face. “You are a good person. You managed to survive Steelbeak’s and Black Heron’s training and parenting and you’re here now, with us.”

 

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and her grandmother sighed. Reluctantly, she desisted and they, packing up the equipment, left SHUSH HQ. Launchpad was waiting, along with Dewey who was bouncing around in the cockpit. He grinned when he spied her. She couldn’t muster a smile back.

 

“Webby?” he asked, hopping over to the door. She remembered then that Dewey had once said Launchpad was his best friend, which had struck her as odd considering their age difference. Even if he was fifteen now or thereabouts, Launchpad was still in his thirties. Why didn’t Launchpad have friends his own age? It was a mystery.

 

She forced a smile and he winced. “That bad?”

 

“Take us back to Duckburg. We have preparations to make,” Mrs. Beakley said to Launchpad. She wasn’t looking at Webby, but she could feel her attention on her all the same. She was angry, though not at her granddaughter. Killing Black Heron once wouldn’t have been enough for her. Webby knew she wanted to thrash her many times for how she’d treated her.

 

“What happened?” Dewey persisted.

 

“Nothing unusual,” she said and they sat down. She flicked his cowlick and then, seeing as her grandmother was preoccupied with ordering Launchpad around, kissed him on the beak. He pulled her close and deepened the kiss. Sometimes, kissing him was a good distraction, both for herself and to get him to drop whatever line of questioning she found particularly troubling.

 

He wrapped his arms around her and she cuddled up against him. They broke apart, however, when Mrs. Beakley cleared her throat behind them. Webby jumped, startled and blushing.

 

“Why is it I’m the only one who gets in trouble for this?” Dewey huffed.

 

“Because you’re the only one I see around here kissing my granddaughter.”

 

“But we’re dating. And we live in the same mansion. And...you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

 

Mrs. Beakley smirked, sitting beside them. Webby got up off Dewey’s lap and sat between them. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger; she’d cut it short once she’d left FOWL. FOWL hadn’t been much for haircuts, so she’d decided drastically changing her look would be a good way to disassociate herself from her past.

 

“What kind of supplies do you need from the manor, anyway?” he asked.

 

“That should be none of your concern,” Mrs. Beakley said stiffly.

 

“Woah, woah, I’m just asking,” he said, holding his hands up in a defensive position. He reached for Webby’s hand and held it, intertwining their fingers. Webby leaned her head against his. Somehow, even now, he managed to center her. Yes, he made her heart race, but he also comforted her and made her feel like she wasn’t an aberration.

 

“We may require an extensive trip outside of Duckburg, as SHUSH was unable to ascertain where, exactly, the Carver is,” Mrs. Beakley said.

 

“‘The Carver’?” Dewey repeated. “That sounds ominous. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

 

“Dewey, I was raised in a villains’ den. I think I can handle one lunatic,” she scoffed.

 

“And I’ve plenty of experience,” Mrs. Beakley said. She sniffed, having taken umbrage at his comment. Webby’s head was still against his and she squeezed his hand.

 

“Cool, cool. So when do we leave?”

 

“You aren’t accompanying us,” Mrs. Beakley said stiffly. “It will be Launchpad, Webbigail, and I. No tag-alongs.”

 

The plane abruptly took a nosedive and they yelped.

 

“Sorry, almost hit a flock of geese,” Launchpad called back. “They should know this is no a fly zone.”

 

“Wait, this is a no-fly zone?” Dewey repeated.

 

“Oops, yeah...it’s supposed to only be for military aircraft carriers,” Launchpad said. “I thought they wouldn’t mind if we took a shortcut through their airspace.”

 

“Those missiles aimed at us say otherwise…” Dewey said, nonplussed.

 

“Give me that communicator before you get us all killed,” Mrs. Beakley snapped, storming up to the cockpit again. Once she had, Dewey turned to Webby and nudged her with his knee. He wore a charming, mischievous smile that made her heart melt.

 

“So, when are we going?” he asked in an undertone, wary of invoking Mrs. Beakley’s ire further.

 

“Within the next day or two. I’ll let you know,” she whispered back.

 

“I thought you didn’t want me along? Since I’m not trained or anything.”

 

“I want you along. I don’t know if I can stand being alone with Granny...after everything FOWL said about her and everything they put me through, I get nervous and twitchy in her presence. I need you as a foil. Launchpad will be air support, assuming he doesn’t get us all killed in the next five minutes, but you...you understand me. And I feel safe around you.”

 

“That’s weird, considering that the last time a villain came by, he broke my arm and almost crushed my ribcage. Not really sure how much protecting I can do.”

 

“Not that kind of support,” she said and beamed at him. “Emotional support.”

 

“I can do that,” he reassured her and nuzzled her. “Mmm, I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” she whispered back. She pulled his head down for another kiss that he reciprocated eagerly. Outside the Sunchaser, a radio crackled to life and she did her best to ignore it. Dewey, however, pulled away.

 

“Land immediately!” a brusque military man ordered. “You are in a no-fly zone. Land or we will shoot you down.”

 

“We’re terribly sorry,” Mrs. Beakley said. “Our pilot is an idiot. He’ll land right away. Won’t you, Launchpad?”

 

Though her tone was level, her expression promised violence if he failed to cooperate. Launchpad hastened to comply, sending the airplane into a steep dive that prompted everyone to yelp. Mrs. Beakley secured herself to the railing and the teenagers buckled in.

 

“When I said ‘land right away’, I did not mean crash spectacularly and kill us all!” Mrs. Beakley snarled.

 

“A good crash is one you can walk away from,” Launchpad said smoothly.

 

“At this rate, we won’t be walking or breathing!” she countered.

 

As the two bickered, Launchpad brought the airplane out of its sharp descent and into a more gradual, controlled landing. Webby’s heart was in her throat and Dewey looked green beneath his white feathers. If she had eaten anything before the SHUSH debriefing, she probably would’ve been the same way. As it was, she trembled. Launchpad, in his imbecilic way, could be more dangerous than FOWL. Holy crap.

 

They bumped into the tarmac, but, other than a controlled skid, they survived intact. Webby waited for her heart rate to slow down. Beside her, Dewey was panting.

 

“I thought you would’ve been used to this by now,” she said to him.

 

“You know, you’d think so, but, no, not really,” he said.

 

“And here comes the military…” Mrs. Beakley groaned, looking through the windshield as a humvee drove up with a strict and angry looking sergeant riding shotgun. Oh, this was not going to be fun.

 

* * *

 

While Scrooge chewed Launchpad out, Webby started packing. Lena wasn’t accompanying her, as she hadn’t been cleared by SHUSH (not yet, but it looked like it was next on their to-do list). Knowing that her grandmother was likewise engaged, she slipped a few discrete items in her pack that she’d kept around for Dewey’s sake. She’d meant what she said. She needed Dewey there to soothe her rattled nerves.

 

“So...how’s the packing going?” Dewey asked, wandering into her room. She’d left the door unlocked, though not open. And leaving it unlocked still felt like a great concession. Dewey, Lena, and her grandmother were the only people allowed to wander in. If she hadn’t known he was coming, she would’ve locked the door anyway.

 

He peered into her suitcase. “Webs, you’re not serious.”

 

“I am,” she said and dared him to contradict her. She looked him in the eyes.

 

“We talked about this. And with your grandmother there?”

 

“I know, but--”

 

“It’ll happen in its own time. You have to have patience,” he said and put his hands on her shoulders. “And I’m the last person to be lecturing anyone about patience. But we don’t need that. Not right now.”

 

“I know, but--” her eyes shone with tears.

 

“You’re not gonna lose me,” he promised and hugged her to him. “I promise. And what you want to happen not happening right away doesn’t mean I’m gonna leave you.”

 

Webby dropped her gaze. In FOWL, sex was traded for favors or to gain leverage over someone. Sex was power. That wasn’t why she wanted it with Dewey. She thought it’d be a way to anchor him to her, yet he kept insisting she didn’t need to. She balled her hands into his shirt.

 

“I’m not ready and you aren’t either,” he reminded her. “You’re still scared.”

 

“Of course I’m scared,” she snapped. “I spent my entire life being scared. Why should I stop now?’

 

“Because you’re safe. Because you’re home with people who love and care about you. Because Steelbeak is in a maximum security prison along with Black Heron and neither of them is going to hurt you ever again. You can trust us.”

 

“I know that.”

 

“You say that, but I don’t think you do.” He rocked her in his arms.

 

“I do. I do trust you,” she insisted. She ran her fingers through his hair, including the cowlick.

 

“Hey, hey. Don’t mess with the hair,” he reprimanded and she scoffed.

 

“I’ll mess with the hair if I want to,” she replied and tousled it further. He whined, pulling away to fix it, and she kissed him on the beak. He got distracted (as she’d planned) and kissed her back. She pushed him toward the bed and he didn’t fight her. Their makeout sessions usually happened on her bed.

 

She kissed him frantically as if she could seal the feel of him in her mind. He was beneath her and she straddled him when they fell onto the bed. Despite what he’d told her, about not being ready, his body told a different story. He wanted her. He was just afraid of where that would lead him.

 

For now, she’d have to be content with that. She couldn’t keep pushing him. Eventually, he’d shove her away and that was the last thing she wanted. She should let things happen naturally, she knew that.

 

They broke apart, coming up for air, and she rested her head on his chest. She could hear his heart pound and smiled. She’d done that. She had power over him; not that she was going to use it for ill, but she enjoyed knowing she wasn’t completely ineffectual.

 

“Webby?” he murmured once he’d caught his breath.

 

“Mmm?” she said.

 

“You’re beautiful. Did you know that?”

 

She lifted her head and stared at him. Other than Dewey, no one had ever called her that before. Dewey was creating a lot of firsts. She searched his gaze to see whether he was lying or manipulating her, but he seemed to be telling the truth. He genuinely thought her beautiful.

 

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he said and brushed her hair back. “You have that little self-confidence?”

 

“I have self-confidence,” she scoffed. “Just...not in that.”

 

Or in much of anything, honestly, but it wasn’t a topic she wanted to broach right now.

 

“You’re beautiful,” he repeated. “You’re gorgeous and insane and badass and you’re all mine.”

 

She laughed, moving into a sitting position on him. He straightened out so they were sitting together, face to face.

 

“It’s true.”

 

“I should probably get back to packing…” she mused, looking at her suitcase, which seemed forlorn after their makeout session. Dewey smiled, kissing her neck, and she let out a breathy sigh.

 

“Or we could make out some more,” he proposed. “Your choice.”

 

“I should really get back to it…” she said, in a tone that indicated he should attempt to change her mind. He smirked, proceeding to distract her from what needed to be done. And she let him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, not in a great place emotionally right now. So, please, review and leave kudos? Maybe? I even updated early this week. XD

She was briefing herself on the mission particulars, this time without Dewey to distract her when her grandmother knocked on the door. It wasn’t locked, but it had been closed to prevent any curious onlookers from coming in. She knew it was her grandmother by the sound of the knock--everyone knocked differently. It was a welcome change from time in FOWL, where everyone entered whether she wanted them to or not. Given Black Heron’s tendency to materialize and interrupt whatever Webby was doing, she didn’t miss it.  
  
“I assume you have that memorized by now,” Mrs. Beakley said and sat down beside her on the bed. She stroked her hair and Webby flinched, having expected an attack that hadn’t come. Her grandmother frowned and hugged her.  
  
“I know this is a big step for you, but I want you to know that I trust you.”  
  
She released her and held her at arm’s length. “I love you.”  
  
“I love you too.” It might’ve been a nice sentiment if Webby hadn’t managed to mangle it by sounding more like she was spitting it out than that she meant it. She grimaced, hanging her head. She still felt like she was learning the ropes on how a normal family interacted.  
  
“You’re thinking of having Dewey along, aren’t you?”  
  
As always, her grandmother was too astute.  
  
“He’s not trained in this. He has no experience with spy missions. He’d get himself hurt or worse, Webbigail.”  
  
“He has experience in adventuring. He knows how to handle himself in a fight. He’ll be all right.”  
  
It was what Lena had told her and she had no reason to doubt her. Besides, Webby needed him along. She wasn’t going to listen to her grandmother gainsay her choice. Come hell or high water, Dewey was accompanying them.  
  
“And if I forbid him, he’ll find a way to sneak along, won’t he?” Mrs. Beakley asked flatly.  
  
Rather than answer, she simply smiled and Mrs. Beakley groaned.  
  
“All right. But don’t tell me I didn’t warn you about the dangers of having an undertrained, inexperienced agent along. I know you’ve heard of and possibly read of my time with Mr. McDuck as my partner in SHUSH.”  
  
She nodded. Since FOWL had offered a skewed version of the events, she’d taken it upon herself to find the recorded accounts and had memorized them too. Needless to say, the details had varied greatly. A few story elements remained the same, but FOWL had a tendency for either embellishing themselves or denigrating others. While she remained skeptical about SHUSH in certain ways, she took the reports with a grain of salt.  
  
“I borrowed the reports from the Money Bin’s library.”  
  
She avoided wriggling in discomfort. Alone time with her grandmother always put her on edge. She knew Mrs. Beakley was a good person and that Agent 22, such as she was, loved her. Not to mention that everything Webby had been told about her grandmother was a lie calculated to drive a wedge between herself and her only decent living relative. She knew all that intellectually, but there was a long way between that and knowing things in her gut.  
  
“I still think some time alone, away from Dewey, would be beneficial for you. You’ve latched onto him an unnatural amount, Webby.”  
  
While she took this reprimand quietly, inwardly she seethed. She knew what she was doing, didn’t she? Dewey kept her anchored. She trusted Dewey and Lena more than anyone else right now. It wasn’t right to isolate her from the familiar. And she was afraid that, without Dewey’s influence, she might slip back into old habits and attack her grandmother because of how much FOWL had hammered into her. That was ridiculous, of course, because she hadn’t seriously hurt her grandmother even when she’d had the chance, but she feared backsliding. She feared, more than anything, that this was a reprieve and she’d wake up to discover herself back at FOWL HQ.  
  
Mrs. Beakley brushed Webby’s hair off her forehead. “You can confide in me too, you know.”  
  
No, she couldn’t. She didn’t understand.  
  
Mrs. Beakley’s frown deepened. “I know FOWL poisoned you against me. But if you can overcome them, then you can overcome your trepidations too. I believe in you.”  
  
Sensing she wasn’t going to get a response, Mrs. Beakley sighed and desisted. She rose to her feet and hugged Webby once more before heading for the door.  
  
“Tell Dewey he has to be up at five a.m. tomorrow. No exceptions. If he oversleeps, we’re going without him. And you can be the one to tell his Uncle Donald that he’s going on this dangerous mission.”  
  
Webby suppressed a groan. She couldn’t understand Donald 100% even on her best days. She knew that the older duck had a temper, too, and she wasn’t looking forward to being on the receiving end of it, even if she couldn’t decipher everything he was saying. On the plus side, he probably had experience letting Dewey go on these dangerous missions, seeing as they’d been adventurers before this.  
  
“Get some rest,” she advised. “Talk to Donald and Dewey and then make it an early night. We have a lot of work to do in the morning.”  
  
She nodded.  
  
“I love you. And if you don’t feel it back or you don’t know how to articulate it, don’t feel obligated to repeat it back, Webby. I won’t hold it against you.”  
  
She nodded again and this time, let it pass. She tried to ignore the spasm of pain that crossed her grandmother’s face when she didn’t repeat it. Without another word, her grandmother left the room and closed the door behind her. Webby frowned too, losing her taste for looking over the notes she’d long since memorized.  
  
She waited until her grandmother’s footsteps receded into the distance before deciding who she would tackle first. She decided Dewey was the safer bet. Besides, why should she tell Donald she was taking Dewey along before telling the person in question first? And maybe Dewey could help her talk to Donald; he could interpret what he was saying and also knew him far better than she did.  
  
Dewey was fussing with his Dewey Dew Night set when she came into the boys’ room. Evidently, a string had broken on the fake guitar he’d been using for the Dew Night Crew and he was afraid it’d show on the camera. She stood in the doorway for a minute and watched him fuss. Huey told him he was being ridiculous and Louie, without even looking up from his laptop, booed.  
  
“You could always replace the string,” Webby offered and Dewey dropped the guitar in surprise. It thunked on the floor when it hit and she fancied she saw a new scratch extending along the bottom. Huey facepalmed and Louie, shaking his head, returned to his computer. Apparently, this was no longer interesting.  
  
“Webby! Where did you come from?” he exclaimed.  
  
“You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?” she retorted, her beak twisting in a wry smile. “I wanted to tell you that Granny said you can come along.”  
  
“You mean on that super secret spy mission that he has no place going along with?” Huey said sharply.  
  
“Sweet!” Dewey said and sprang up, dropping the guitar yet again. Webby winced as it clanged. “Oops. But seriously, why did she change her mind?”  
  
“The idea that you were gonna sneak along anyway,” she responded and scooped up the guitar before it suffered any further abuse. “Have you ever considered recruiting an actual band? Or at least investing in better fake instruments?”  
  
“He might if he ever made any money from Dewey Dew Night,” Louie scoffed. “Everyone complains about it. He has no fans.”  
  
“That’s not true,” Dewey huffed. “These people don’t appreciate my artistic genius. And it’s not all dislikes. I get a like once in a while.”  
  
“Probably by accident,” Louie muttered.  
  
“Sometimes I give you likes out of pity…” Huey admitted and Dewey groaned.  
  
“It’s not supposed to work like that!” Dewey protested.  
  
“Anyway,” Webby said, interjecting before this transformed into a full-blown argument, “Granny says you should probably go to bed early and get some rest before we get up at five a.m. That probably means no Dewey Dew Night.”  
  
“But it’s a late night show. It has to be done at night,” Dewey protested.  
  
“Most late-night comedians record during the afternoon. They only do late night shows for the ratings and, no offense, but that’s not going to help in your case,” Huey said.  
  
“My apologies to Flintheart Glomgold, who’s been bumped again--” Dewey said and, out of nowhere, popped the man himself. Webby startled. She’d never seen Glomgold in person, but she’d heard about him through The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck. He’d looked trimmer in the book’s photographs. Perhaps they’d been old. Or had been Photoshopped.  
  
“Would you stop inviting him into our room?” Louie snapped.  
  
“He’s the only guest I can ever get on short notice,” Dewey complained.  
  
“And you always bump me!” Glomgold snapped. “I’m starting to think this is a running joke.”  
  
“No, no, of course not,” Dewey reassured him. “We’ll do an interview after I get back. I promise.”  
  
“What is this super secret spy mission, anyway?” Glomgold asked, perking up with interest.  
  
“Get out of our room!” Louie huffed.  
  
“I can tell when I’m not wanted,” Glomgold said but lingered, clearly hoping that someone might spill the beans and divulge the intimate details. Webby rolled her eyes; Glomgold had flitted in and out of FOWL’s radius, but he wasn’t evil, not like most of FOWL. He was just a greedy s.o.b. As such, he didn’t have much in common with it.  
  
Huey pushed Glomgold out of the room, closed the door, and locked it too for good measure. He huffed, folding his arms across his chest.  
  
“What have I told you about inviting Uncle Scrooge’s arch enemies into the manor?” he said with the air of someone who has said this too many times to count.  
  
“I shouldn’t do it while you’re home?” Dewey asked with a winsome smile that had no effect on his older brother. He might be able to charm her, but it didn’t work on his brothers.  
  
“You shouldn’t do it at all!”  
  
“And some people have Ponzi schemes to run,” Louie muttered. Huey cleared his throat. “What? They’re theoretical. I’d never run a Ponzi scheme. I’d get arrested.”  
  
“Not sure that’s the point…” Huey muttered.  
  
“I believe in getting money ethically,” Louie said. “With the least amount of effort possible, that doesn’t land me in jail.”  
  
“I’ll agree with the second half of that, not so much the first,” Huey responded.  
  
“You need to go to bed,” she said, feeling like she was becoming forgotten in Dewey’s ego and Louie’s plotting. “Granny said if you aren’t there when we leave, we’re leaving without you.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there,” he promised.  
  
“I’ll set three alarms, just in case,” Huey added. “Dewey’s not great at getting up early. Then again, he’s better at it than Louie.”  
  
At this, he shot his youngest brother a dirty look that Louie missed, being occupied by whatever was playing out on his screen before him. Huey sighed.  
  
“All right,” she responded and hugged Dewey. She pecked him on the cheek. It was on the tip of her tongue to add “I love you”, but she didn’t like saying it in front of witnesses. Moreover, she was still wary of saying it too often, like it might cheapen it or cause it to become false through repetition.  
  
“Good night,” she said.  
  
“Good night,” he replied and she left the room with a frown. She had the feeling that Huey was going to need to rouse Dewey anyway because the boy didn’t look ready for bed. Perhaps for another Dewey Dew Night segment, but certainly not for sleep.  
  
She loved Dewey, but his need for attention sometimes was unnerving.  
  
There was nothing for it but hope she could sleep in the interim. She was too wound up to attempt it, but she had to at least consider it. At least with Dewey there, she might not snap. However, that required a level of trust in herself that she didn’t have.

* * *

  
The Carver knew they were coming. How could he not? SHUSH could hardly fail to notice his actions after everything he’d done. He looked forward to tangling with their agents, particularly their newest recruit, the FOWL traitor, Webbigail Vanderquack. He wondered if she’d remember him. The new moniker wouldn’t give her any indication of who he was; they’d have to come face to face for that. And even then, he’d changed since she’d last seen him.  
  
Smiling coldly, he gazed at himself in the mirror and examined the scar that went from underneath his left eye and across his face down toward the bottom of his chin. As a peacock, he was normally vain and this blemish was an eyesore. If FOWL thought he was allied with them, then they were sadly mistaken. He’d never forgotten what Black Heron had done to him and he knew that Webby hadn’t either.  
  
He wondered what had made her turn her back on FOWL. It couldn’t have been him. He wasn’t that arrogant. However, he looked forward to questioning her once he’d captured her. They were overdue for a good, long chat about priorities.  
  


* * *

  
  
Thanks to oversleeping, Dewey had to eat breakfast in the Sunchaser as Launchpad took them up over Duckburg and toward their new assignment. Mrs. Beakley rolled her eyes; it’d been a very near thing that Dewey had made it at all. She’d hoped he wouldn’t show at all. Perhaps it was naive of her to hope for more time along with her granddaughter, especially considering how jumpy Webby was around her, but she’d thought maybe Webby would value the alone time. No, she’d thought she needed a buffer between them.  
  
Webby was curled up and reading an old SHUSH mission report. She was ignoring Dewey for the time being and Mrs. Beakley took the opportunity to observe her, for once, without Webby staring back. Despite her granddaughter’s stoic expression, she knew that she still felt uneasy about SHUSH and the life she’d chosen. She wished that she felt secure enough to confide in her. The brainwashing FOWL and, in particular, Steelbeak and Black Heron, had subjected her to was difficult to break, even after months. It made her heart ache.  
  
“Granny?” Webby asked, lifting her head from the dossier.  
  
“It’s nothing. I was just thinking. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
Webby frowned, looking like she wanted to ask a question, but then abruptly closed her beak. Mrs. Beakley suppressed another sigh. How was she supposed to make it past Webby’s barriers when the girl wouldn’t let her in? It hurt so much to know that she was her grandmother and yet, she trusted her less than a boy she’d met a couple months ago.  
  
Maybe this would be the opportunity she needed. Maybe, even with Dewey along, she and Webby would need to rely on each other to escape and they’d have a bond forged by fire. It didn’t make her feel much better, because she’d rather not have a relationship fostered by peril. However, it might be the best she could hope for, at least at the moment.  
  
“Would you like me to tell you about your mother?” she suggested and Webby perked up, putting the dossier aside for the time being. Ah, so she had her attention now. As Dewey was focused on eating, she ignored him.  
  
“There was more to her than what Steelbeak said, wasn’t there?” Webby asked and there was another question hidden in there, a pleading that she not be reduced to the one action that Webby knew about.  
  
“Of course there was. A person can’t be summed up by one thing. It doesn’t define them,” Mrs. Beakley said and, unable to resist, she reached out and stroked her hair. It was like whenever they were near, she couldn’t help but touch her. She needed to reassure herself that Webby was real and here before her. She grieved for the years she’d lost.  
  
“Your mother was stubborn. We didn’t want her to go on that mission, but she pushed and prodded and argued until she got her way. It was very difficult to say ‘no’ to her; she could be very persuasive when she wanted to be.  
  
“That wasn’t to say she didn’t care. She did. She just didn’t take into account all the variables when she did things.”  
  
“Della said she knew her a little,” Webby said.  
  
“Yes, we were both at the manor briefly together. That was shortly before Della disappeared,” Mrs. Beakley said and frowned. “Off in that rocketship.”  
  
Dewey frowned too. “We had a hard time finding her; Uncle Scrooge and Uncle Donald wouldn’t talk about it for years, even after we’d started living in the manor. It took a bad crash for it to be pried out of Uncle Scrooge and then longer until we could convince the Board for one last search on the moon. They didn’t want to do it.”  
  
He put aside his egg sandwich. “She was on the dark side of the moon, so she couldn’t get transmissions out. That was three years ago.”  
  
“How did you know to look on the moon?” Webby asked, genuinely curious.  
  
“We didn’t, but Gyro had a hunch. It was supposed to be a last ditch effort, meant to appease Uncle Scrooge and little else. He almost went bankrupt trying to find Mom the first time.”  
  
Family meant a lot to Mr. McDuck. Webby glanced at her grandmother and Mrs. Beakley stared back. She knew that her granddaughter doubted that she’d tear the world apart looking for her, although she had. She would’ve ripped FOWL apart with her bare hands if she could’ve gotten ahold of them.  
  
“I almost quit my job the day you disappeared,” Mrs. Beakley said, sensing where Webby’s thoughts had gone. “You know I never stopped looking for you, much like Mr. McDuck never gave up on Della.”  
  
Webby nodded, not entirely believing it.  
  
“To bring it back to our original point, however, yes, Della and Wren knew each other. Not well, but they were acquainted. They got along well; they were both the adventurous sort. Della knew all the ins and outs of things and Wren was forever trying to break the rules.”  
  
Dewey smiled. Evidently, this tallied with something Della or one of the adults must’ve told him.  
  
Mrs. Beakley sighed. “She was always rebelling against me, Wren. She liked to test the limits because she could. She never settled down, either.”  
  
“Steelbeak said she wouldn’t let him possess her,” Webby said and shuddered.  
  
“After she laid you, she vanished. She’s been presumed dead for sixteen years,” Mrs. Beakley said and sighed. “We changed your last name in the hopes it’d throw Steelbeak off the scent. It didn’t work, as you can see.”  
  
“What if she’s still alive?” Dewey asked. “Like Mom was? Maybe we could find her.”  
  
“I wouldn’t know the first place to look,” Webby said with a frown.  
  
Mrs. Beakley frowned deeper, torn between telling her it was hopeless and not destroying the fragile belief Dewey had fostered. It was true that they hadn’t found out definitively whether her mother was dead, but after years of no new information and no leads, what other conclusions could they draw? She was untraceable.  
  
“We’ll figure it out,” Dewey promised. “We got Mom back. I don’t see why we can’t get your mom back too.”  
  
It was true that they’d never recovered her body from that explosion. It was possible Wren might not have even been at the apartment when it’d exploded. Mrs. Beakley found, against her will, her mental wheels turning in pursuit of this new venue. She’d lost hope so long ago. The thought of having both her daughter and granddaughter back was tantalizing.  
  
Dewey put a hand on Webby’s knee and squeezed. He then leaned forward and rubbed beaks with her. She smiled, that tentative true smile she seemed to only show around him, and Mrs. Beakley sighed. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she went to determine whether Launchpad was following the course. She didn’t need to, but one, Launchpad needed babying and two, Webby and Dewey probably wanted to be alone.  
  
She cast one last glance back at the pair; it was like she was out of sight, out of mind.  
  


* * *

  
  
“We can find her,” Dewey said. Contrary to what her grandmother believed, she was aware of her movement. How could she not be? She was hyper-aware of everything around her right now. She knew she needed to relax her guard, that no one here intended her harm (especially not Launchpad), but training trumped common sense every time.  
  
“When did you decide to start looking for your mom?”  
  
“As soon as Uncle Scrooge told us what happened. We’d been searching for clues for a while, but it was really slow going. We needed someone who was good with organizing and although Huey fit the bill, he didn’t know the mansion that well. So we kept running into dead-ends or getting in trouble.”  
  
If she’d grown up in the manor, she could’ve helped them. She cupped Dewey’s cheek in her palm.  
  
“We got the truth out of Uncle Scrooge after a nasty confrontation. We left the manor and were going to move to Cape Suzette when Magica attacked using Lena as a pawn.”  
  
She nodded. As this wasn’t in any book or record, she was unfamiliar with it. Dewey shifted so that his knees bumped hers. He was so affectionate and open.  
  
“It was weird, too. Because it was like something was missing. It’s been like that for years now, so we ignored it. But then when you came back...it was like the missing piece was there.”  
  
“You did well enough without me.”  
  
“Not really. We stumbled and fumbled a lot. We really could’ve used you and your badassery. You’re, like, the fist and the brains. And you could’ve kept Huey from going completely neurotic. Lena tries, but she’s not perfect.”  
  
Webby had a hard time imagining Lena good at calming anyone down, much less a panic stricken Huey.  
  
“So...what’s this mission about?”  
  
She nearly fell out of her chair. “I gave you the briefing notes! Why didn’t you read them?”  
  
“Um, well, reading isn't really my strong suit,” he admitted.  
  
“You told me you read Wuthering Heights.”  
  
“I did, I did. The Cliff Notes.”  
  
Webby facepalmed hard. “That isn’t reading!”  
  
“Sure it is. I mean, I read the book. Just...not the whole thing.”  
  
As much as she hated to admit it, maybe Granny had a point about not letting Dewey come along. It looked like he’d be flying into this completely blind. She wanted to bang her head into something.  
  
“Read. The. Briefing.”  
  
She gave him a look that she’d previously reserved for those that particularly pissed her off. Dewey gulped, pulling out his bag.  
  
“I have them, I have them!” he huffed. “I’ll read. I swear!”  
  
“You’d better,” she said and unbuckled her seatbelt. “I’m gonna go talk to Granny. When I come back, you’d better have finished them.”  
  
She sighed. She didn’t know why she was disappointed that Dewey hadn’t read Wuthering Heights. After all, he didn’t strike her as the literary type. It was just that the book had meant so much to her when she’d been trapped at FOWL, she’d been naive enough to think it’d meant the same to him.  
  
Dewey grabbed her hand before she’d gone far.  
  
“Hey. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me. I’ll try to be better. I’ll read the book when we get back, I promise. While we’re looking for your mom.”  
  
She cast a dirty look at him and then relented. She hated how he had that effect on her. Maybe it was infatuation, plain and simple.  
  
“Okay,” she said.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“I love you too,” she said and, unlike with her grandmother, she didn’t stammer over it. He released her and she remembered the feel of his feathers on hers. Her heart skipped a few beats and while part of her wanted to rush back there and kiss him, she knew if she did that, he’d never read the briefing notes.


	3. Chapter 3

Mrs. Beakley glanced over at her granddaughter; Launchpad was listening to music to “concentrate on his piloting”, which was another way of saying he was trying to tune her out. Webby could hear the music through his headphones; it was an old 90s band, Powerline. That was about the extent of her knowledge of Powerline, however. One of the kitchen helpers liked to listen to Powerline while he worked, which was how she was familiar with it at all.  
  
Launchpad might’ve been able to concentrate better if he hadn’t been banging his head against the console to the beat. Webby wasn’t sure how well this would work; he was bound to crash sooner or later, hopefully after they’d reached their destination. As it was, however, the music was too loud to have a conversation with him, which had probably been the goal.  
  
“Sometimes, I don’t know why Mr. McDuck still employs him,” Mrs. Beakley said, shaking her head.  
  
“He must be the cheapest around,” Webby reasoned and Mrs. Beakley snorted.  
  
“Off-set that with all the crashes and collateral damage he causes and I’m not sure that’s the case. He has a soft spot for him, heaven knows why.”  
  
She suppressed a sigh and then glanced over at Dewey, who was reading the mission dossier.  
  
“Let me guess--it’s his first time seeing it.”  
  
“He was busy,” she lied and then grimaced, hanging her head. “He must’ve been. It’s not his fault.”  
  
“Of course not. He’s easily distracted.” She squeezed Webby’s shoulder and then rested her hand on it.  
  
“You really wish I hadn’t brought him, don’t you?” she asked softly, safely out of Dewey’s earshot.  
  
“It doesn’t matter what I wanted,” Mrs. Beakley said and removed her hand when she saw Webby showed no signs of reciprocating her affection. “I’ve learned to deal with disappointment.”  
  
“It’s so weird that there’s a new FOWL operative when there hasn’t been in over a decade,” she said, deciding to change the subject. Her grandmother’s comment had made her feel uncomfortable and she wasn’t sure whether Mrs. Beakley was attempting to manipulate her as so many had in the past or if she was stating a fact. She always had to weigh the words of adults against their intentions.  
  
“It is strange,” she agreed.  
  
She hugged herself and this time, her grandmother didn’t step forward to touch her. Tension eased out of her when she didn’t move.  
  
“Webbigail.”  
  
“Mmm?” she was staring through the windshield. Someone had to keep an eye on Launchpad’s flying since the man-child was clearly not doing it himself. He had shifted from Powerline to the Darkwing Duck theme song and was singing it aloud despite his audience. Even Dewey had noticed and was wincing, looking up from the dossier.  
  
“You look just like your mother at that age.”  
  
Webby turned, spying the pained lines on her face. Feeling awkward, as affection toward her didn’t come easily (compared to Dewey and Lena), she touched her grandmother’s hand and held it. The contact was brief, but she hoped she appreciated it. Her heart ached and she thought both of Steelbeak and her mother. Her mother, who was an enigma, the mysterious SHUSH force that had succumbed to an immovable object. And Steelbeak--the immovable object that had destroyed so much. Webby shuddered.  
  
“I woke up covered in blood once,” she said, uncertain why she was relating this to her now. “Black Heron said it was a SHUSH agent’s blood. I was twelve.”  
  
Clenching and unclenching her fists, she said, “I still have nightmares about it.”  
  
“SHUSH didn’t lose any spies when you were twelve,” Mrs. Beakley said, which prompted Webby to look up at her. “Black Heron was lying.”  
  
She tried to determine whether her grandmother was cushioning the blow, but Mrs. Beakley’s face was inscrutable. She could still feel the weight on her feathers and the stench in her nose. She’d tasted blood in her mouth and shuddered again, returning to that long ago time and that younger, more innocent girl. The kitchen helper then had cleaned her up discreetly so that she might be able to better stand Black Heron’s trial. Then he’d died, needlessly, for Black Heron’s amusement.  
  
Saddened, she cast her gaze on the floor again.  
  
“Black Heron and Steelbeak will pay for what they’ve done,” Mrs. Beakley vowed. “Regardless of how long it takes. I will personally see to it.”  
  
It did beg the question, however, of whose blood had coated her feathers. She was afraid to ask. She knew the price of failure in FOWL was unusually high, so it easily could’ve been a FOWL operative. Likewise, it could’ve derived from a slaughterhouse, too. She wouldn’t put it past her.  
  
That, however, was the limit of how much she was comfortable sharing with her grandmother. She remembered how alarmed Launchpad been when she’d told them what had happened to that kitchen boy. She had no measure for what was normal or not when growing up. The things that she took as commonplace appalled people and she couldn’t figure out why. Once, she’d read a psychology book before Steelbeak had taken it from her. It had stated that people could get used to anything and consider it normal if given enough time and exposure.  
  
“I know Steelbeak isn’t the affectionate type,” her grandmother said, startling her out of her thoughts. “But he wasn’t...abusive, was he?”  
  
She thought she knew what she was getting at. “No. Only Black Heron.”  
  
The answer didn’t seem to satisfy her grandmother. If anything, her beak tightened further and her fists clenched. However, she seemed to have confirmed something for her, because she nodded reluctantly. The awkwardness returned and she glanced back at Dewey. He’d already grown bored with the assignment and was looking at his phone. She suppressed a sigh. Didn’t he have any sense of self-preservation?  
  
“It’s not like Steelbeak let her treat me like a punching bag,” she argued, not certain why she was defending him. “Just in our sparring matches, she was allowed to hit me. Otherwise, she couldn’t touch me.”  
  
Mrs. Beakley sighed and scrutinized her as if by looking, she could see the years of abuse heaped on Webby. Webby stared back and then slid backward as they hit turbulence. With misgivings, she and her grandmother returned to their seats. Dewey looked up at her with a smile she couldn’t return. It was Launchpad’s flying that was twisting her stomach, she told herself, and not remembering her past.  
  
“You don’t think this Carver is someone you know, do you?” Dewey asked and she spun about in her seat to regard him. She’d buckled herself in, as had Mrs. Beakley.  
  
“I don’t see how he could be if he started after I left.” She frowned.  
  
“But the timing is weird. Like, he started up right after you left. Like your switching sides was the catalyst.”  
  
Mrs. Beakley frowned too and Webby forced a laugh.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Dewey. No one in FOWL thought that much of me other than being Steelbeak’s daughter. No one would decide to go on a crime spree to get my attention.”  
  
Yet now that the idea had been implanted in her mind, she rolled it over and examined it. No, she couldn’t be that important to anyone else, save Black Heron and Steelbeak. The only other person who might’ve cared about her behavior had perished. As for Wren, if she wasn’t dead, she didn’t care about her daughter’s well-being.  
  
“And being Steelbeak’s daughter didn’t make you a target?” Mrs. Beakley asked archly. She seemed to concur with Dewey’s theory.  
  
“Of course it did. But most of the villains in FOWL are incompetent at best. How good could they be if they could be thwarted by Darkwing Duck and Gizmoduck all the time?”  
  
She’d had no difficulty defending herself. In a way, she was almost grateful to Black Heron for her sessions. They’d taught her how to fend off unwanted attention when Steelbeak wasn’t watching. As Agent 22’s granddaughter, she’d attracted more than her share of venom and loathing. Being Steelbeak’s daughter on top of that had not helped.  
  
“Maybe you’re more important to people than you think,” he argued, clearly not willing to let this die.  
  
She sighed, growing weary of the topic. “To you, Granny, and Lena, maybe. I really don’t think I had that big an impact beyond that and the villains in FOWL. People are probably glad I’m gone. Less hassle.”  
  
“You really can’t think of anyone who might’ve been upset that you’re gone?” he asked and she shook her head.  
  
“Don’t play yourself. Someone cared. Someone’s trying to get your attention,” he persisted.  
  
“Fine,” she snapped, uncomfortable again. “Let’s pretend you’re right. The problem is that the only person who cared about me died at Black Heron’s hands.”  
  
“Did you see them die?” Dewey shot back.  
  
“No,” she admitted. “Black Heron told me she killed him. I never saw him after she pulled him away or heard from him again, so I assumed she was telling the truth.”  
  
“Black Heron may be many things, but she is not a murderess, no matter how much she pretends otherwise,” Mrs. Beakley said. “Her primary interest is that berry juice concoction and she will punish anyone who gets in her way. However, I doubt she killed that person. It doesn’t fit her modus operandi.”  
  
“What, torturing me? Yeah, it does.”  
  
Mrs. Beakley’s frown deepened.  
  
“Trust me. I grew up with her. She totally would’ve killed someone if she thought it’d hurt me.”  
  
For weeks, she’d mourned the kitchen boy’s death. She couldn’t even remember his name now; either that or she’d blocked it out in the hopes of forgetting. Unfortunately, while his name might be lost to the ages, his memory was not. She shivered and Dewey squeezed her hand and interlaced their fingers.  
  
“Letting you think he was dead would have accomplished the same thing without dealing with the consequences,” her grandmother pointed out.  
  
“Don’t you think that’s a pretty far leap, that the Carver is the kitchen boy?” she asked.  
  
“I didn’t say that,” Mrs. Beakley said. “I’m simply saying that things may not be as clear cut as you thought they were at FOWL.”  
  
“And if I can have a crush on you, who’s to say someone else wouldn’t too? Not that they could compete with me--they don’t have a popular late-night TV show--but it could happen,” Dewey said.  
  
“I guess…” she said, unwilling to concede the point. They hit another batch of turbulence and conversation, thankfully, ceased. Still, she had the sense it was merely slumbering rather than being put to rest for good.  
  


* * *

  
  
As they traveled further, the weather conditions deteriorated. Soon, through no fault of his own, Launchpad was forced to land lest they crash. While Launchpad was not anti-crashing by any means, Beakley, Dewey, and Webby very much were. Besides, Launchpad preferred to be able to see the terrain when he landed and with visibility almost nil, it was pure chance that he landed in a field instead of, say, in the middle of the ocean. Webby would have thought that the Sunchaser would have superior landing gear, but then again, she hadn’t taken into account how cheap Scrooge was.  
  
Grounded, she heard thunder crash about them and saw lightning through the windshield. Shuddering, she jumped into the hold, where it was marginally safer. The others had already descended.  
  
“This will put us off schedule,” Mrs. Beakley frowned. “Although not falling to our deaths seems like a good trade.”  
  
“Hey, man, I’ve crashed hundreds of times and I still haven’t died,” Launchpad boasted.  
  
“That’s because Louie thinks you’re immortal,” Dewey informed him.  
  
“Am I?” Launchpad asked and genuinely seemed like he wanted to know. Mrs. Beakley sighed, facepalming. They entered in a conversation that Webby ignored. She knew that the boys had gone on many adventures in the Sunchaser and she could almost feel the weight of history here. She also knew that Della and Donald had flown in the Sunchaser.  
  
A strong gust of wind rocked the ship and she clenched her beak. Rubbing her arms, she glanced at the TV, where Darkwing Duck was playing. It was the episode where he’d first encountered Bushroot, complete with all the awful plant related puns you could ever want. She knew Launchpad had it memorized, which was the only reason he wasn’t watching it right now. Judging by Dewey occasionally mouthed along with the actors, he knew it by heart too.  
  
There was a gash in the side of the ship that, despite being repaired, was still evident. She traced her finger along the seam.  
  
“I was a sky pirate for a little while,” Dewey told her and she startled, spinning around and catching herself before she ended up attacking him. She was getting better at that, though she still hated when people snuck up on her. She considered it a character flaw that she kept letting him do that.  
  
“That’s where they broke into our ship, Don Karnage and the others. Everything worked out in the end; I’d just wanted a little attention.”  
  
She nodded absently, still tracing the ship’s scar. She wouldn’t admit aloud that she was jealous he’d had such adventures. Up until recently, she’d been confined to FOWL HQ. Such daring feats were only seen in the books she snuck into her room, the ones that Steelbeak didn’t immediately confiscate as “dangerous”.  
  
“If your mom went to hide from Steelbeak, where do you think she would’ve gone?” he asked, seeing as she wasn’t responding to the pirate anecdote.  
  
“I don’t know,” she said, turning to face him. “She could’ve gone anywhere.”  
  
“Did Granny go on adventures with you?” she asked, uncertain why it had occurred to her nor why she was blurting it out.  
  
“Not really. She mostly stayed home and did the housekeeping. She was semi-retired when we came to live at the manor,” he said and shrugged. “She also lifted all the antiques and treasure Uncle Scrooge found. Your grandmother is insanely strong.”  
  
“She must be.” However, the kind of strength she was referring to was different than what Dewey meant.  
  
He slung an arm about her waist. “I could give you the grand tour if you want.”  
  
She smiled back. “Pass.”  
  
“You know, if you want to know more about your grandmother, you could just ask her. She doesn’t bite.”  
  
“All my life, I heard everyone say what a terrible person she was. I guess, from FOWL’s POV, she was. They weren’t villains--they were avenging wrongs and solving problems. True, they were often problems they’d created, but they were still the good guys in their minds. Agent 22 wasn’t.”  
  
She sighed. “Knowing you were brainwashed and being able to beat it are two different things.”  
  
“She’d never hurt you.”  
  
“Oh, I know that. Intellectually. Just not subconsciously,” she said and shook her head. “It’s hard to explain.”  
  
Another powerful blow pummeled the ship and she hissed, fretting that the seam might burst open. How strong were the winds if they were capable of pushing the Sunchaser around like a child’s toy? It was unnerving. If the ship fell apart around them, they’d be tossed like so much rubbish into the storm. She shuddered.  
  
“The ship’s stronger than it looks,” he said. She must’ve given him a look, because he added, “It is. When Mrs. B found out how unsafe it was, she raked Uncle Scrooge over the coals until he put the proper safety measures in place. Otherwise, she said he shouldn’t risk us for treasure. That if he wanted to risk his own life, that was another thing, but not us.”  
  
He smiled. “She kinda acts like we’re her grandsons. I guess you weren’t there…”  
  
Her heart ached and she sighed. She ought to give her grandmother the benefit of the doubt and stop avoiding her. Turning from the seam, she jumped when she spied her grandmother standing nearby and listening in. She blamed the winds whistling for not hearing her, though she should’ve sensed her. It took her longer to lower her arms and relax her guard. Thankfully, she hadn’t reached for her weapons, which were sheathed at her hips.  
  
“How much did you hear?” she asked.  
  
“Enough,” Mrs. Beakley said, which wasn’t an answer. She didn’t push her for further information. The pained expression on her face told the whole story. Webby resisted the urge to wring her hands and squirm like a disobedient child.  
  
“You know, I’m gonna go read that dossier,” he said. “In case, you know, something happens and it goes flying out the window.”  
  
That was clearly a pretense to leave her alone with her grandmother and she watched him move away with no small amount of resentment. She turned to Mrs. Beakley.  
  
“Did Steelbeak ever treat you like a child?” she whispered.  
  
“I wasn’t a child. I was a junior FOWL agent,” Webby said. Before, she might’ve taken pride in that. Now, however, it rang hollow.  
  
“I see,” she said, frowning back.  
  
Webby didn’t know what to say. There was no way trust could spring out of nothing. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her phone. She’d never blocked Steelbeak’s number or changed her number. It was unlikely that he’d call her, considering that he was in prison awaiting trial. She didn’t know what she’d say to him, either. However, it didn’t seem to matter. The last time she’d heard from him had been before Taurus Bulba had materialized at the manor and scared the living hell out of her.  
  
They were relatives, but they were strangers to each other. This would happen when and if Dewey found Wren. There was no avoiding it. The only thing to do was to grin and bear it, regardless of how horrible it was.  
  
The Sunchaser moved forward ominously and she yelped, grabbing onto a crate lest she go flying away. She wasn’t a big fan of airplanes. Lack of experience, for one thing, and also, the sensation that there was only thin protection between herself and the world outside did not encourage comfort. Dewey had retrieved his notes and back down with them in the hold.  
  
“Aw, man, the DVD is skipping,” Launchpad complained. “I must’ve played it too much.”  
  
On screen, Darkwing was confronting Megavolt. For a split second, she glimpsed Steelbeak hiding in the shrubbery, but that made no sense. Steelbeak wasn’t in this episode. Her heart stuttered, but it appeared no one else had noticed. Maybe it was her imagination, fueled by this storm.  
  
“Then shut it off,” Mrs. Beakley commanded. “I have enough of that braggart in real life without adding his father’s arrogance to the mix.”  
  
It didn’t matter, however, because, within a few seconds of issuing that order, the lights flickered and died. The engines halted and they were plunged into darkness.  
  
“That’s a new one,” Launchpad commented.  
  
“And unwanted,” Mrs. Beakley replied. Webby bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t like the dark. The dark was when Black Heron had crept up on her and tormented her. However, she had no intention of letting the others know that.  
  
“Webby?” Dewey called.  
  
“Where else would I be?” she huffed, rolling her eyes at him even though she couldn’t see him.  
  
“Just checking.”  
  
“It’s probably best for the fuel consumption that the engines aren’t running anyway,” Mrs. Beakley rationalized. “This probably won’t last long.”  
  
She was trying to be positive for their benefit. Someone bumped into her in the dark and Webby responded instinctively, whirling and grabbing them by the throat.  
  
“Webby!” Dewey choked.  
  
“Sorry, sorry,” she said, but she was having problems relaxing her grip. The past terrors had too strong a hold on her.  
  
“Webbigail, it’s all right,” her grandmother said softly, attempting to calm her. When she approached, Webby brandished Dewey like a weapon.  
  
“Webs…” Dewey wheezed.  
  
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Launchpad said and, with difficulty, she forced herself to open her hand and drop her boyfriend on the floor. Once she had, she worked on not hyperventilating. Grabbing him had been bad enough. Anything further might indicate her disquiet.  
  
“Now, since we’re all stuck here, we might as well make the most of it,” Mrs. Beakley said. “And I would advise a minimum of moving about. Webby’s still on a hair trigger.”  
  
“Sorry,” Webby said and Dewey moved slowly, rubbing his neck. She couldn’t see it, but she could sense it. That would bruise and she felt guilty.  
  
“Why don’t we tell each other ghost stories in the dark?” Launchpad suggested.  
  
“We’re not at camp, Launchpad,” Dewey said.  
  
“Besides,” Webby said, settling down and hugging her knees, “this’ll be over, soon?”  
  
“Right,” her grandmother said, though Webby heard the doubt in her voice. “It’ll be over before you know it.”  
  
“Uh huh,” Dewey said and Webby grimaced. She was trying not to rock back and forth in the dark and he settled next to her. He wrapped his arms around her and she stroked his neck where she’d grabbed it. Leaning forward, she kissed it and he lifted her head so their beaks rubbed together.  
  
“You’re a dangerous girlfriend. Good thing I like danger,” Dewey murmured and she smiled.  
  
“Even though I can’t see it, I can still hear it,” Mrs. Beakley said and sat on Webby’s other side. “Now, then. We’ll have to come up with some way to pass the time.”  
  
“Darkwing Duck fanfiction?” Launchpad suggested.  
  
“No,” Mrs. Beakley snapped.  
  
“We could talk about our favorite memories,” Dewey suggested. “I’ll go first.”  
  
Webby frowned. She didn’t think she had any favorite memories, but for him, she’d try to muster one up. Outside, the winds howled and rain lashed the ship. She shuddered and he hugged her. Her grandmother placed a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“First off, you’ve never heard Uncle Donald sing...but I have. Oh boy,” Dewey said and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Have I got a story for you. It starts with his old band, The Three Caballeros…”


	4. Chapter 4

Though Dewey didn’t know all the details, he knew enough to make the story entertaining. However, as his story wound down, her apprehension grew. Sooner or later, she’d be called upon to tell a story and right now, all her good memories evaded her. The only times she could think of had either come recently or revolved around the kitchen worker whose name escaped her. She also felt oddly selfish, in that she wanted to keep those memories to herself for a while as if sharing them would dilute them.

 

“I still remember the day you hatched,” Mrs. Beakley said once Dewey had finished. Startled, as she’d forgotten yet again that her grandmother had been her guardian for the first five years of her life, she turned to regard her. They were all sitting on the floor in the hold while the ship rocked back and forth. Launchpad had opened up a pack of rations and they were passing it around. She certainly hoped he’d packed enough because she didn’t know how long it would take for them to reach their destination now that the ship was out of order.

 

“I was nervous, even though I’d been through it before with Wren. So much had gone wrong, with Wren missing and Steelbeak lurking on the horizon, that I feared the worst when you showed signs of hatching. I needn’t have worried, of course. You burst out of that shell like you were ready to fight it and the world.”

 

She smiled fondly. “I had hoped, from that point on, that I had a warrior on my hands and I’d never have to worry about FOWL in my life again.”

 

Leaning forward, she brushed Webby’s hair back from her face. “You were a precocious child, too. You learned to read when you were four and you were always trying new things and seeking out new adventures. I could barely keep up with you sometimes. You were a hyperactive ball of energy.”

 

“I bet we would’ve gotten along as little kids,” Dewey said. He was leaning back on his elbows now and staring up at the TV hanging from the ceiling, which wasn’t on and which Webby sincerely hoped was securely fashioned.

 

“We would’ve caused all the ruckus. All of it,” he said with an impish grin. “Uncle Donald and Mrs. B wouldn’t have known what to do with us.”

 

“You used to be so confident...but I suppose FOWL knocked that out of you,” Mrs. Beakley said sadly and Webby nodded. They were lit up by the flashlight lying near them and while she was grateful for it because otherwise, they’d be in complete darkness, she wasn’t sure she wanted anyone to see her expression right now.

 

“You can still be confident,” Dewey said, sitting up and taking her hands. “You’re badass. You’re awesome. You need to own it.”

 

Webby’s beak twisted in a weak smile. “I’ll work on that.”

 

“You never told us what your happy memory was,” Dewey said and she hissed. She’d hoped her grandmother’s impromptu speech would’ve knocked it out of his mind. No such luck. She glanced over at Launchpad as if he might save her. Nope, he was too preoccupied eating trail mix and dumping the entire bag’s contents down his gullet. Ugh.

 

“I don’t really have one,” she demurred.

 

“Oh, c’mon, you have to have something,” he protested. “You can’t tell me FOWL was unremitting horror from the time you were kidnapped until you escaped.”

 

“It wasn’t…” she said and stared down at the steel beneath her. “I don’t want to get into it.”

 

“C’mon, just a little,” he wheedled.

 

“No,” she snapped. She could feel herself shutting him out again, which she hadn’t meant to do, but she didn’t like him prying, either. As far as she was concerned, those memories were private. When and if she felt like opening up about them, she would. Not now.

 

“Don’t push her,” Mrs. Beakley admonished. “She’s had a hard childhood.”

 

Childhood. Webby managed to avoid scoffing. There was no such thing as a childhood where FOWL was concerned. She hugged her knees and balled her fists. Suddenly, more than anything, she wanted to be back in the air with the lights on and their destination set. She didn’t like these close quarters or deep conversations. They crowded in on her.

 

“You’re doing that thing again,” Dewey said quietly. “Where you’re blocking me out.”

 

“I know. I just...never mind,” she said and shook her head. “You must have tons of stories you could tell about your adventures with Mr. McDuck and growing up with your uncle Donald. Why don’t you tell me about how Louie started Louie Inc?”

 

With the attention safely off her, she could relax minutely. However, she noted that it’d worked with the males, her grandmother continued to scrutinize her. She looked like she wanted to pull her aside and talk with her further, but was biding her time. Great. Just what she needed--more one on one time. The ship’s rocking back and forth and the howling winds weren’t helping, either. Something battered the Sunchaser further and they shifted ominously. Her stomach flip-flopped.

 

She tuned Dewey out, mostly listening to the cadence of his speech than the actual words. At the appropriate points, she made the correct responses and so, encouraged, he continued. When he got up to get a drink of water, after who knew how long, she glanced over at her grandmother, whose gaze had never faltered from her face.

 

“You don’t really care about his adventures, do you?” Mrs. Beakley murmured. Launchpad was showing Dewey where all the water bottles had gone.

 

“He cares about them,” she said with a shrug. “It makes him happy to talk about them.”

 

The winds buffeting the ship tilted them sideways and Webby grabbed the flashlight just as the Sunchaser wound up on its side. The crates slid and they landed atop them. Her stomach twisted again. If their position changed again, they could end up being crushed. She had no idea what was in the supplies, but if they were heavy enough, they’d perish. The problem was she didn’t think they could take shelter from the storm outside, not without knowing the terrain and whether there were caves safe from the weather.

 

“All I wanted was a drink, not for the Sunchaser to tilt…” Dewey groused.

 

“Maybe if we move back across the ship…” Launchpad mused.

 

“No,” Mrs. Beakley snapped. “I don’t want to perish by the weight crashing upon me. There’s no service on my cell phone, otherwise, I’d figure out where we are and make a detailed plan based upon our coordinates. As it is, we’ll have to hope our luck holds out for now. When the winds die down, I would suggest we familiarize ourselves with our surroundings.”

 

Sitting atop the crate was uncomfortable and she couldn’t help but remember the time she’d been trapped inside a meat locker at FOWL HQ, with Black Heron leering at her from the window. That was the first time she’d ever flipped someone off and meant it. Thankfully, she’d made enough of a ruckus that Steelbeak had rescued her. She’d been ten and Black Heron had sneered something about frozen duck before Steelbeak had shoved her in the meat locker for an hour.

 

Shuddering, she inched closer to Dewey, who put his arm around her.

 

“We could talk about our favorite Darkwing Duck episodes,” Launchpad suggested.

 

“Words cannot express how much I don’t want to do that,” Mrs. Beakley said archly.

 

“You sure you don’t have any happy memories?” Dewey pressed.

 

“Nothing that’d be considered normal…” she said, shaking her head.

 

“Okay, what about abnormal?”

 

Mrs. Beakley’s huffing at Launchpad broke off and she was aware, again, of her grandmother’s attention upon her.

 

A smile crept upon her face, despite herself. “There was the time that Steelbeak robbed a toy store and let me pick out which toys I wanted.”

 

Her smile faded slightly. “Of course, a lot of those toys were made by Quackerjack, so it’s not like they were the safest things around.”

 

“What’d you get?” Dewey asked.

 

“My first grappling hook and heat-seeking glasses,” she said. “They were supposed to be fake, but the store owner was peddling spy gear on the side. That was why Steelbeak had attacked him in the first place.

 

“Dad--Steelbeak, sorry, was proud of me for picking that stuff,” she said and then flushed, aware this was nowhere near the norm for a parent-child relationship. “He made Black Heron teach me how to use it and it came in handy the next time Black Heron tried to lock me up somewhere.”

 

“How often did this happen?” Dewey asked. “You act like it happened all the time.”

 

Webby shrugged. “Black Heron liked to see if I could work my way out of things. Or she was trying to kill me. Not really sure which. Steelbeak always interceded before it went too far and then locked her up in whatever she’d been trying to shove me into.”

 

Another smile crept upon her face, but it was a cruel one and she was glad Dewey couldn’t see her face in the dark. There’d been the time Black Heron had tried to shove her into a cage with jagged wire and Steelbeak had caught her before she’d succeeded. The cage hadn’t been large enough for Webby, let alone Heron.

 

“And he let her do this? Repeatedly?” her grandmother snapped and the heat in her response unnerved Webby for a second. She remembered, though how she’d forgotten she didn’t know, that her grandmother was also Agent 22 and formidable in her own right.

 

“He wanted to make sure I could get out of anything, in case I wound up captured,” Webby said, shrugging.

 

“He should never have been let near you, let alone parent you,” Mrs. Beakley muttered darkly.

 

“Uh, maybe we should talk about something else?” Dewey suggested.

 

“I think the wind’s dying down,” Webby said. It was true. She hadn’t heard anything howling and nothing had crashed into the plane in the last ten minutes. She’d been too distracted to notice the change. Unfortunately, rain still lashed the wings and if they went outside, they risked getting drenched.

 

“Maybe the storm’ll blow itself out?” Dewey suggested.

 

“Maybe,” Mrs. Beakley said. She still sounded irritated over her granddaughter’s casual reference to being confined.

 

“Granny…” Webby said and wasn’t sure where that sentence was going. Her grandmother leaned forward and hugged her so tightly it took her breath away.

 

“Never again. I will kill him if he comes within a hundred feet of you,” she vowed.

 

“Is it me, or did things just get super dark in here?” Dewey said.

 

“No, it’s been dark for a while,” Launchpad said.

 

“Not what I meant,” Dewey said dryly.

 

Thunder boomed and the wind picked up again. She stifled a groan. So much for the storm blowing itself out. It looked like they were stuck here for the long haul.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometime later, she wasn’t sure exactly how long, she woke up. Stiff, having fallen asleep curled up in a ball atop a crate, she stretched. Her grandmother’s phone was on and she was studying Webby. Dewey and Launchpad were fast asleep. Panic rushed in. This was what she’d been hoping to avoid--being alone with Mrs. Beakley.

 

“You cry in your sleep,” Mrs. Beakley said quietly.

 

“So I’ve been told.”

 

“What were you dreaming about?”

 

“Nothing,” she said, attempting to head off the conversation before it careened out of control. “The usual.”

 

“Was it something Steelbeak did to you?” she asked sharply.

 

“It wasn’t anything that actually happened,” she said and then looked away, unable to meet her grandmother’s gaze. “I had a nightmare that Mr. McDuck threw me out and forced me back into FOWL. It wasn’t a big deal…”

 

“He’s not going to throw you out,” Mrs. Beakley said fiercely. “And no one is ever going to force you back into FOWL.”

 

“I know.”

 

“But you don’t believe it. Webby, I love you. Mr. McDuck has been trying to help me search for you for years now. No one wants you gone. No one.”

 

She cast her gaze onto the floor, which she guessed was actually the side. Directions were confusing considering how much the ship had shifted thanks to the wind.

 

“If you would just talk to me, perhaps you wouldn’t be having these nightmares.”

 

“You’re Agent 22,” Webby said dully. “You’re supposed to be my granny, but…”

 

“But I’m also the enemy,” she completed and reached over, then seemed to think better of it and recalled her hand.

 

“You’re not supposed to be,” she said and shook her head.

 

“This was why I didn’t want Dewey along,” she sighed. “I thought if it were the two of us, you might be more inclined to trust me.”

 

“I poisoned you. I tried to kill you. I still don’t understand-” she started and then stopped.

 

“You’re still confused. I can’t hold it against you. FOWL has fed you too many lies,” Mrs. Beakley said and shifted closer to her. “There was more to that dream, wasn’t there?”

 

Webby stared at her surroundings. She caught a glimpse of Dewey lying upside down with his beak open and she smiled fondly. She couldn’t resist the temptation to poke him in his stomach and he yelped, waking up.

 

“Do you always sleep upside down with your mouth open?” she teased.

 

“No…,” he said and then reached out toward her to stroke her cheek. “You were crying again.”

 

“It’s nothing,” she said, in an attempt to dissuade him from pursuing the conversation.

 

“Let it go, Dewey,” Mrs. Beakley said, weary. “Now that the storm has passed, we should take stock of the situation and then find cover while Launchpad figures out what caused the power outage and fixes it.”

 

Of the four of them, Launchpad remained asleep and Mrs. Beakley sighed, rolling her eyes. “Shall we?”

 

Dewey shook Launchpad, but the older male duck didn’t wake. Shrugging, casting him one last glance backward, he headed outside with the others.


	5. Chapter 5

It was good to be in the air again, though she couldn’t reconcile her conflicting emotions. She worried someone might take a shot at the Sunchaser, or, in lieu of that, separate her from her grandmother and Dewey. They had less than an hour of their ETA left and Webby had taken to pacing the floor. She was reviewing everything she knew about any rogue villains associated with FOWL. As much as she hated to admit it, the others were probably right about the Carver being Merle. Unfortunately, like a lot of traumatic events in her life, she’d attempted to suppress any mention of him. It was why she had no memories of anything before she’d been kidnapped by FOWL.  
  
She stared through the front windshield and her heart hammered. The lights flickered again, despite Launchpad having fixed the problem, and then the ship went completely dark. Darkness covered the outside, too, not the darkness of night but an unnatural, pervasive black that set her feathers on edge.  
  
“What the hell?” Dewey said and she moved toward his voice.  
  
“You can’t fight what you can’t see,” Mrs. Beakley responded and then scoffed. “Or so they hope.”  
  
A loud, percussive sound shook the ship and rattled her down to her bones. Left staggering, blind and deaf, Webby was too disoriented to notice someone scooping her up. She flailed, reaching for her knives, but fear stayed her hand. It might be Dewey or her grandmother. The noise and the darkness might be screwing with her perceptions.  
  
Something burned as it entered her bloodstream and she screamed. No, not Dewey or her grandmother, then. She fought insanely, struggling and flailing for all she was worth. Rather than air in her bones, she felt like it’d been replaced with lead. Her captor held her tighter and she aimed for a stiff uppercut. Even as she did so, she was aware she was losing.  
  
“Stay away from Webbigail!” she heard her grandmother snap, though how she knew what was going on in the dark and the noise was anyone’s guess. It was the last thing Webby heard before she faded away, insensible.  
  


* * *

  
  
Dewey had a headache and a nasty taste in his mouth. Groaning, he looked over his surroundings. The last time he’d been conscious, he’d been in the Sunchaser. Now he, Launchpad, and Mrs. Beakley were confined to a small cell deep underground. The air smelled of mold and rot and the bars before him were cold iron. The cell had no windows and the walls were cinderblock. It had a single toilet, sink, and one cot. How they were all supposed to share the cell, he had no idea. Not that thinking was his strong suit, especially now.  
  
He groaned and then did a quick headcount. Him, Launchpad, and Mrs. Beakley. That made three. They should’ve been four.  
  
“Webby!” he yelped and Mrs. Beakley, who’d been passed out on the cot, groaned and came to. At Dewey’s explanation, she sprang to her feet and glanced around, reaching for weapons she no longer possessed. Launchpad was sprawled out on the floor and she nearly tripped over him gaining her feet.  
  
“Where is she?” she demanded and then groaned, rushing to the cells. In an undertone, she said, “Oh, no...not again.”  
  
While Dewey understood the sentiment, he was bothered by conflicting thoughts. One, how they’d ended up here and how they were going to escape. And two, what had happened to the plane and Webby. He patted himself down, but whoever had taken them had been thorough. His cell phone was gone and he assumed the same held true for the others. Nonetheless, he patted himself down again. Without his phone, he felt a little naked. He wasn’t as married to it, as say, Louie, but it was an important accessory nonetheless.  
  
“Someone deliberately sabotaged the ship and separated us from Webby,” Mrs. Beakley said. She shivered and her feathers stood on end. She must’ve been taking this personally. To have lost Webby twice to FOWL must’ve been almost more than the older woman could take. He felt bad for everyone involved, including himself.  
  
“Did she say she didn’t want us separated?” he asked.  
  
“Likely why we were separated in the first place,” she responded, now probing the blocks and the cell bars for weaknesses. “It is easier for FOWL to prey upon Webby’s fears and manipulate her when she doesn’t have support. Moreover, whatever this Carver wants her to believe might be easier for her to swallow without one of us repudiating it.”  
  
“She’s not going to join FOWL again,” he said and hated the uncertainty that crept into his voice. “I know she’s not. She’s a good person.”  
  
“Technically speaking, the Carver isn’t part of FOWL…”  
  
Her words hung heavily in the air and then she hissed, kicking at the wall in frustration. “Dash it all. This cell is too well fortified. And I assume anything we might have possessed that could have provided a modicum of use has been pilfered.”  
  
She knelt by Launchpad and now that Dewey looked closer, he saw that the pilot had a large bump on his head.  
  
“It seems someone of us fought harder than others,” she said and threw Dewey a pointed look. Dewey was more worried about Launchpad to acknowledge the insult. He checked Launchpad’s pupils, as it was something he’d seen Huey do once under the JWG’s suggestion, and Launchpad groaned.  
  
“Man...I want to go to Hamburger Hippo…” Launchpad groaned. “What time is it, anyway?”  
  
“Don’t know,” Dewey replied. “We don’t even know how long we’ve been out.”  
  
“Huh?” Launchpad straightened and stretched. Thankfully, his pupils weren’t dilated and aside from the nasty contusion, he appeared all right. He patted himself down, an unconscious gesture mimicking Dewey’s earlier actions, and came up with nothing. His pockets, too, had been emptied.  
  
“I suppose the Carver wanted to prevent any loose ends from rescuing Webby,” Mrs. Beakley said and he heard the strain in her voice. She was shaking, suppressing her emotions, as was the British way, but she was overwrought. Her beak quivered and she sat on the cot and practiced breathing exercises.  
  
“Hey,” Launchpad said softly. “We’ll get her back.”  
  
She shot him a withering look. Evidently, the platitude was not appreciated right now.  
  
Dewey turned sideways to see if he could squeeze through the bars. Of the three of them, he was the slimmest, but he got stuck at his shoulder. Hissing, contemplating dislocating his shoulders to fit, he pulled at the bars. They didn’t budge. He sniffed and grimaced. Man, this place was rank. Who the hell had been here before? And what had happened to them?  
  
“You have to have more faith in her,” Launchpad continued. “She’s been through a lot.”  
  
“You think I don’t know that?” Mrs. Beakley countered and her lower beak quivered.  
  
Launchpad sat beside her on the cot and Dewey was half surprised that the cot didn’t break. It did creak ominously, however.  
  
“She’s stronger than you give her credit for,” Launchpad continued. “She won’t fall for whatever the Carver is telling her. She’ll probably rescue us.”  
  
Dewey smiled. Yeah, that sounded like the Webby he knew. Hissing, he pulled at the bars again, as if his previous actions might have loosened them or widened the gap between them. Mrs. Beakley rolled her eyes at the duckling and then glanced over at Launchpad. It looked like it was on the tip of her tongue to snap something caustic at Launchpad, but she held her tongue.  
  
“I suppose,” she allowed, but it was clear she didn’t believe it. Dewey pushed his head through the bars and looked up and down the hallway. The place had torches set along intervals (who used torches anymore, seriously?) and appeared abandoned except for them. That didn’t give him a lot of confidence. He’d had a half-formed idea of creating a rebellion that could break through the bars and storm the castle or whatever this was.  
  
He caught himself reaching for his phone, which wouldn’t have done much good anyway. This far belowground, he probably wouldn’t have had service, regardless. And if they were in a remote location, they were unlikely to have service anyway. Uncle Donald didn’t pay for roaming, either. He’d found that out the hard way once.  
  
“If the Carver is working by himself, then he’ll want to keep Webby’s attention on him,” Mrs. Beakley reasoned. “That means we might have to make do with what we have for the time being.”  
  
“She won’t fall for that,” Dewey scoffed. “She’s probably worried about us too.”  
  
“I know she is,” Mrs. Beakley said. She looked thoroughly miserable and he didn’t blame her. He would’ve considered joining her on the cot if there’d been room and if he wasn’t positive any additional weight would’ve sent the cot crashing to the floor. He eyed it warily.  
  
“I know I have to have faith in her,” she sighed.  
  
“You’re afraid FOWL is going to steal her away again,” Launchpad said sagely and the other two gawked at him. “What? Why are you staring at me?”  
  
“For a manchild, you can be remarkably astute. When you’re not eating golf balls because you think they look like eggs,” Mrs. Beakley said, suppressing a groan.  
  
“They look like eggs,” he protested. “And after the way FOWL treated her, why would she return to them?”  
  
Mrs. Beakley lurched up and one of the chains holding the cot snapped. Dewey’s heart was in his throat.  
  
“What do you know about how FOWL treated her?” she challenged.  
  
“She had a nightmare when we went on our last adventure,” Launchpad said. Mrs. Beakley relaxed minutely, but her hands were still balled and she appeared to be counting to calm herself.  
  
“I see.”  
  
“She’ll be okay,” Dewey said and he wondered whether he was trying to convince himself of that or the others. Or whether there was a difference.  
  
“Yes,” Mrs. Beakley replied in the same tone.  
  
“She will,” Launchpad said with far more confidence than them. “I believe in Webby.”  
  
And what did it say that her grandmother and boyfriend didn’t share that confidence? Dewey felt ashamed for doubting her. But how well did he really know her? Was Launchpad right? Could he see things that others couldn’t, regardless of his odd mental state? Maybe Dewey should believe more in her if Launchpad did.  
  
Mrs. Beakley hunched in on herself. She turned away from them and he saw her wipe a tear from her eye.  
  
“I bet she’s on her way to save us right now,” Launchpad said firmly.  
  


* * *

  
  
Webby’s mouth was dry and her head pounded. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness and to figure out her surroundings. As a matter of procedure, she surveyed the room to determine where the exits were--they weren’t any she could see--and what she might be able to use as a weapon. She patted herself down and breathed a sigh of relief. Despite whatever rough handling she’d received, she was still armed and dangerous. She even had her cell phone, for whatever good that did her. It had no service.  
  
The room was circular and painted blue on the walls, with a steel floor. It was the same shade of steel as her father’s mechanical beak and she rubbed her arms. Had the purpose been to unnerve her? She straightened up, glancing around her. Moving too fast made her head spin and she plopped back onto the floor.  
  
So, assess the situation. She was unbound, still armed, and alone. She was trapped in this room, which had a low ceiling and measured roughly ten by ten, or it would if it were a square. The lights above were skylights, which meant she’d have to jump to catch them by the bulb. She immediately discarded that as too risky. The only thing her phone might be useful for would be to toss it at one of the bulbs and blow it out, but there were at least six skylights, so her aim wouldn’t kill the power, not unless this room was poorly wired and one blown bulb tripped a circuit. She couldn’t assume that.  
  
So, whoever had kidnapped her either considered her no threat or wanted her to feel that she was in control of the situation to a certain extent. They had to have assumed she wouldn’t have come willingly, hence the syringe and the blackout, not to mention the noise pollution. But…  
  
She glanced around again, her mind finally cottoning onto something she’d seen or, rather, not seen. While she’d been generating possible escape routes or defensive maneuvers, she had realized something. She was alone. Of her companions, there was no trace at all. Her heart pounded.  
  
This time more slowly, so as not to fall over, Webby approached the curved wall and ran her hand along it. She knocked on it and winced when she encountered cement. Even if they were beyond the wall, which she had no proof of, they were outside of hearing range. She wouldn’t risk nicking her knife to see whether there were any seams she could exploit within the wall; the room appeared untouched, which made her wonder how she’d gotten in here without any visible entrance or exit. Had the roof been removed and she’d been lowered in, like a pet rat? She bristled.  
  
But if the person had wanted to offend her or risk it, they wouldn’t have left her armed. No, for whatever reason, they wanted her to feel a modicum of reassurance, all the while removing from her the people who might have provided that reassurance.  
  
She was wary. Whatever this person had to say to her, he or she didn’t want Webby’s grandmother, Dewey, or Launchpad privy to it. She already wondered whether she wanted to listen what they had to say.  
  
A person materialized a few feet from her and she hissed, drawing her blade. The image was too bright to discern who it was until her eyes adjusted again and she saw that it was Merle, the peacock cook’s help from FOWL. He had a long jagged scar across his face now and he wore a white lab coat. His blue eyes were hard now and they only softened when they beheld her. She lowered her arm, but didn’t put the knife away.  
  
“Webs…” he breathed and Webby shuddered. It’d been a long time since anyone outside of Dewey and his brothers had called her that. The only person who had was Merle.  
  
“You...you were the one who kidnapped me?” she said, incredulous. “How? And why did you put me here, of all places? Where’s Granny? And my boyfriend? And Launchpad?”  
  
Merle’s eyes narrowed. “They are perfectly safe for the time being. I wanted to have a talk with you without their interfering.”  
  
Webby bristled. “Interfering? What do you mean? They care about me. Well, not so sure about Launchpad, but Dewey and Granny do.”  
  
“If they care about you so much, then why are they questioning your loyalty?” Merle asked quietly.  
  
“Wait, what? No, they’re not,” she said and he pulled a remote out of his lab coat jacket. A TV lowered from the ceiling and showed Mrs. Beakley, Dewey, and Launchpad in a cell that was barely large enough to hold all three.  
  
“In the event Webby does not enact a rescue, we should come up with an alternative plan,” Mrs. Beakley said stiffly.  
  
“She’ll rescue us,” Dewey said.  
  
“Or will she?” Launchpad said.  
  
“Whose side are you on?” Dewey huffed.  
  
“We don’t know how long he’ll keep her distracted, not to mention whether he’ll use manipulation or mind control,” Mrs. Beakley said. “We may be on our own.”  
  
“You see?” Merle said quietly. “She doesn’t trust you enough not to succumb to any sort of mental persuasion. She doesn’t even trust you to come back for them.”  
  
Webby’s heart thudded in her ribcage. “You could’ve made that up.”  
  
“Tell me, if Dewey’s so concerned about you, then why was it when I kidnapped you, his first thought was for Launchpad? I heard him call out for him,” Merle said. “How well do you really know Dewey, anyway? You’ve been together for about six months, isn’t that right?”  
  
Merle moved closer to her. “We’ve known each other for years, Webs.”  
  
Webby winced. “Don’t call me that.”  
  
“Webs,” he said, this time deliberately invoking her nickname, “he hasn’t seen the stuff we have. If he’d seen what we have, he’d run away. He can’t possibly stomach the lives we’ve led.”  
  
The TV rolled up back into the ceiling.  
  
“We’re birds of a feather, Webby,” he whispered. “You may think that Dewey is the light to your dark, but you’ve a light all your own.”  
  
This talk confused her and she shook her head. She wasn’t much for philosophical discussions, considering them mostly sophistry. Besides, FOWL hadn’t allowed most of the well known philosophers in the library, lest she get ideas.  
  
“I’m not saying you have to make your mind up right now,” Merle continued. “But let me show you what I have in mind.”  
  
He put an arm around her shoulders and she shrugged it off.  
  
“I want them back,” she said.  
  
“All in due time,” he promised.  
  
“I want them back,” she repeated, growing angry.  
  
“They’re perfectly safe--”  
  
“They’re not with me, which means they’re not safe, and you’re keeping them from me for a reason,” she retorted, pulling the knife out again. Yet the idea of threatening him with it sickened her and she shoved it back into its sheath, lest he see her hands shake.  
  
“Trust me,” he said softly. “Just for a little while?”  
  
Her good sense wavered with her desire to be with her old friend. She could feel herself tempted.  
  
“They’ll be all right?” she said softly.  
  
“They’ll be perfectly safe,” he responded. “Come on.”  
  
Her stomach roiling, feeling like she was pinned against the wall, she followed him out of the room against her better judgment. Maybe once he’d given her the tour, she’d figure out how to free them. That was what she told herself, anyway. She didn’t want to think that perhaps she was turning her back on her family and boyfriend just because an old friend had appeared.  
  
She wasn’t that fickle. Was she?


	6. Chapter 6

So far, they’d assessed the room four times, tested the bars three times, and then wracked their brains too many times to count. Dewey was growing frustrated and wished he could dislocate his shoulder and squeeze through the bars. Huffing, he shook the bars and then returned to brood on the floor. Any weapons they might have had they had already lost. Mrs. Beakley took a running start (such as it was, given how small the room was) and slammed into the bars. She bounced off, but the bars remained entrenched. She cursed.

“There must be some blasted way to get out of here,” she hissed.

“It looks pretty secure to me,” Dewey commented and she shot him a withering look. Yeah, okay, maybe he’d deserved it. Launchpad was lounging on the cot and staring at nothing. He seemed to be spacing out and Dewey ignored him. Mrs. Beakley, assuming that Launchpad had nothing productive to offer, likewise disregarded him.

Mrs. B patted herself down for the hundredth time, desperate to find an item the peacock might have missed. He’d already come to visit them once down here and warned them that Webby wouldn’t be returning to them. It had incensed Dewey and Mrs. Beakley; behind Mrs. Beakley’s anger was fear that she might be swayed back. Dewey was torn between anger over Merle’s arrogance and anxiety over Webby’s state of mind. They hadn’t seen Webby in over a day now.

True, they’d been fed and they hadn’t suffered any mistreatment, but it was degrading to be in here. What if Webby wasn’t coming for them because she didn’t want to? What if she’d decided she’d rather be with her old gang? No, that made no sense. He’d witnessed the nightmares FOWL gave her on a nightly basis. She was a good person, but was she strong enough in her convictions to rescue them?

* * *

Webby had waited until Merle was asleep before creeping out of her room. Merle had given her free rein over the hideout, which was his mistake. Wrapping the robe he’d provided about herself, as it was quite chilly in the lair, she set about looking for her boyfriend, her grandmother, and their pilot. As she moved around, she was aware of the security cameras but paid them little mind. As far as she could tell, Merle inhabited the vast, cavernous space alone. The security system would probably alert him once she’d rescued everyone, but she’d deal with that when the time came.

It’d taken this long to get away from him. Part of her felt guilty about that, that she was sneaking around behind his back. What had he expected would happen? Yes, she felt horrible that his suffering had been due to Black Heron’s feelings for her. Yes, she was sorry that he’d nearly perished because of her. But guilt only carried someone so far. Plus, she’d become adroit at squashing down guilt when she absolutely had to. It was a survival tactic. Kill or be killed in FOWL.

Her feet slapped against the rough cement floor. This place looked like it’d been a secret government facility before Merle had taken it over. Of his evil plans, she hadn’t seen any evidence, but she might not have been close enough in his confidence to be told yet.

She’d played along with him for a while, deciding that pretending to be amicable would yield better results than repeatedly demanding the others back. She hadn’t forgotten about them, not for a second. Unfortunately, the lair was huge and she didn’t have a floor plan. It wasn’t set up similarly to FOWL HQ, either, which meant she could be wandering in here for possibly hours if not days if she didn’t locate a blueprint of the hideout.

Maybe she needed to threaten Merle at knifepoint to bring them back. It’d be a last resort and she had memorized which way she’d gone so far, but if she couldn’t find them on her own, the time for civility would be long over. Her hand brushed against her favorite blades, Stabby and Pinchy, and a small smile flitted across her face. She’d had them since she was nine. In a way, they were like old friends.

In a rather disturbing way.

Thus far, she’d explored the living quarters, such as they were. Despite the large lair, or perhaps because of it, it was sparsely decorated. Certain areas required fingerprint scans or retina scans, which meant they were off-limits, at least for the time being. It looked like Merle trusted her as much as he could throw her. She scoffed.

Her feathers prickled and she whirled, sensing someone in the dark. She had her hands on her blades. No one materialized, but she wasn’t fooled. Training with Black Heron for years had taught her to trust her instincts. If she thought she was being followed, then she most assuredly was. Simply because she couldn’t see the culprit didn’t mean anything.

Her current goal was to reach a security center, but she wondered whether she ought to detour to throw off her tail. Of course, that assumed she knew what she was doing enough to wander aimlessly. She’d marked the passageways she’d already traveled to prevent backtracking, but that was the extent of her mapping it out (other than memorizing where she’d been). Anyone who had been here longer than a day had the advantage of her.

She knew better than to call out and expect to be answered. Black Heron had delighted in stalking her through the FOWL halls at night, especially when Webby was committing a forbidden act, like hunting in the Archives or leafing through the library books. There had been one time she’d been desperate to find information on her mother and she’d headed for the Archives only to discover Black Heron had headed her off. She shuddered, not wanting to remember the rest of that incident.

In her mind, she ran through what she knew about Merle. He loved sweets and he loved sharing them with her. Truth be told, she had always suspected he’d harbored a crush on her, but her awkward socialization skills (what socialization skills?) had prevented her from addressing it properly. The odd thing was while she’d liked him, she realized now that what she’d felt for him paled in comparison with what she felt for Dewey. Her throat tightened. She had nothing but Merle’s word that the others were being well-treated and how much was his word really worth? It certainly hadn’t allayed her fears.

A hallway with four branches loomed before her and she hissed; the walls were bare, betraying nothing of what lay within the rooms ahead. She was shooting in the dark. One branch might be as good as the next and so, marking with Stabby which way she’d gone, she went straight ahead. As she did, she grew more aware of the presence behind her and her chest tightened. While she was familiar with being stalked in FOWL, she hated it. FOWL villains thought nothing of playing cat and mouse with Webby and then sneering when a blade flew out at her in the dark. While they weren’t specifically targeting her, as such an action would lead to sanctions, it was a game where they tried to see how much they could scare her or throw things at her until she either fled or got hurt. Her throat tightened again. Was this what Merle meant by a shared history? Why would she ever want Dewey to know that experience? Her skin crawled.

Merle didn’t understand that part of the reason she cared for Dewey so much was that he’d been untouched by FOWL’s insidious influence. He was untainted and that to her was beautiful. Plus, his enthusiasm, his desire for adventure, his determination, his charm, and persistence. Maybe Merle didn’t see it because he wasn’t in love with him, but Webby did. And even though Webby had gotten past the puppy love stage, she still loved Dewey because he was still the best person her age she’d ever found or was likely to ever find. Merle didn’t understand that either and she didn’t think she could explain it.

Sighing, she tried the first door she came to. It was locked and the window screen blocked out with black paper. The dust on the knob argued that whatever was inside hadn’t been used in some time, which meant it wasn’t of interest to her. In fact, now that she looked closer, she saw that the hallway itself hadn’t been touched; she was heading in the wrong direction. Scowling, she retraced her steps.

Something flew at her and moved so fast she only caught a glimpse of it before it slammed into her and knocked the breath out of her. Gasping, Webby kicked out, but the figure had already moved out of range. It wouldn’t be Merle. Merle wasn’t stupid enough to tackle her, nor could he move that quickly. He’d been a cook’s assistant, not a trained FOWL operative or even an agent in training as she’d been. That meant as she’d suspected that there were other people here she hadn’t encountered yet.

She didn’t have time to ruminate. Pushing herself to her feet, she readied her stance and received another blow to the stomach. Holding her ground this time, she hissed and lashed out only for her assailant to catch her and spin her, dropping her to the floor. Dust crept into Webby’s nostrils and she sneezed, assessing her opponent. Whoever they were, they were clad in black from head to toe and moved without a sound. A cyborg? Or a ‘droid? When the figure moved, the wind barely shifted. Webby’s heart pounded. It hadn’t occurred to her, foolish though it looked in hindsight, that there might be more than security cameras protecting the lair at night.

Whatever this creature was, they were fast. Webby dodged a kick aimed at her face and then lowered herself, performing a sweeping kick that ought to have knocked her opponent off her feet. Instead, her opponent brought both fists, clad in sable gloves, down upon her head. Webby twisted in time to catch them on her shoulder instead of her skull and then stifled a pained cry when the blow connected. Holy shit, what was this? Not even FOWL had access to technology so advanced. Was it someone like Taurus Bulba? But the cybernetic bull couldn’t move that quickly or adroitly.

Webby scanned her surroundings. A blade might work against her assailant, provided its shell wasn’t adamantine. Reacting in the blink of an eye to an attack aimed at her ribcage, Webby surged forward, slipping inside the creature’s reach so she could whip Stabby along the creature’s midsection. She scored a hit and she could feel the blade pulling, but the flesh sealed around the wound. Within twenty seconds of her stabbing the creature, her blade was trapped inside of its body, save for the hilt protruding.

Cursing, she ducked below the next punch that would have left her head spinning and reassessed her options. Without knowing more about her opponent, she’d have a difficult time beating it, assuming that the creature could be defeated. If it couldn’t, she didn’t know whether the creature would fight to kill her or merely disable her. There were no holes in the facemask the creature wore and she wasn’t certain it would answer her if she asked it a question or whether it had the capacity to speak.

She couldn’t hack into its systems. While she had some rudimentary skills as a hacker, being able to do so from her cell phone, which was the only tech she had on her, would mean being able to evade its blows long enough to figure out the algorithms involved and all that coding. She didn’t see her opponent giving her leisure time to disable it.

Webby sprang up, tucking her legs underneath her, and pivoted, moving so quickly as to be a blur herself to the naked eye. For now, she abandoned her knife and bounced off the walls. While her opponent was swift, she could be fleet too. Without realizing it, she had retreated toward the first door and she moved in time for the creature to smash its way through the boarded window. Webby took advantage of its brief surprise to reach through the window to unlock the doorknob. She didn’t move fast enough, however, and she soon found its hand wrapped about her throat. Webby kicked again and it was like kicking steel. She would have howled in pain, but she couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs. Spots appeared before her eyes and she struggled more, a thousand memories hitting her at once. Escaping a stranglehold was different when battling a sentient being. They had weaknesses to exploit. So far as Webby could tell, this creature had none.

Her ears popped and she began to feel light-headed. She reached for her second blade and jammed it in the creature’s right eye. Unlike the blow to the midsection, this took the creature back and it stumbled, releasing her and letting her slump to the floor while it worked at extracting the blade. Webby panted, the air in her bruised windpipe hurting, but she didn’t care.

Abruptly, her assailant stopped moving. She wasn’t sure how hard she’d rammed that knife in there, but it appeared to have hit a core processor. Hanging its head, the robot or droid froze with its arms dangling. Webby didn’t dare retrieve her knives, but she mourned their loss. Black Heron and Steelbeak would’ve told her that she was being overly sentimental and perhaps she was but when your best friends were knives, you developed an odd relationship with them.

With the robot out of commission, she chanced to open the door and flicked on the light. It looked like an abandoned laboratory, but everything was covered in several layers of dust. Webby sidled in, not daring to put her back to the robot, regardless of how decommissioned it currently looked. Appearances could be deceiving. She no longer had that prickly feeling she’d had before, but that didn’t mean that was the only such robot in this facility. There could be others she had alerted by stabbing their fellow droid. Webby cursed inwardly.

Of course, with her knives embedded in the robot, she had no weapons. Sweeping through the lab, she sought out anything sharp, though she feared time might have dulled edges and rust rotted away blades. Nonetheless, she’d spent enough time around Black Heron in her own laboratory to know which liquids were poisonous by smell or appearance alone. Black Heron had never been bold enough to attempt to poison her, so her lessons with Webby hadn’t involved experimentation on her. That, oddly enough, was one area where Steelbeak drew the line. Fights were all right because healing was possible, but she might never recover from imbibing an unknown substance.

Tucking promising looking test tubes into her knife sheaths, she departed the lab. Prudence dictated she ought to quit while she was ahead and return to her chambers before she was missed. Prudence be damned. She was worried even more now about her companions. Who knew what else might be skulking about the lair at night? Her companions weren’t exactly armed and dangerous, although Mrs. Beakley was formidable as the retired Agent 22.

She assumed that wherever her companions were, they were secure. That didn’t comfort her. With her heart in her throat, she proceeded ahead, searching for the nearest stairwell. If she were Merle, she would have put them in the dungeons or their equivalent here. And if she were Merle, she would have made it difficult indeed for anyone but him to reach them. She had to trust she had a way around any obstacles in her path. And if she couldn’t make her way around, then she was going to shove her way through. Like hell was anyone keeping her from her grandmother again and the same went for Dewey.

She just hoped she knew what she was doing because the wrong move might get all of them killed.

* * *

Merle awoke when someone shook him awake. His first move was to check Webby’s guest room, which was vacant. The silent figure before him, clad all in black, projected an image of Webby moving through the halls and her fight with another of its companions, which had culminated in Webby stabbing it in the eye. Merle was impressed, though he shouldn’t have expected any less from her. Webbigail truly was one in a million.

But she was in danger of unraveling his plot and rescuing Agent 22, the Duck boy, and the pilot. He couldn’t let that happen. Once they had power over her again, she would never listen to him. He had to nip this escape in the bud before it caused any real damage.

He regretted that he needed to send out the big guns, but drastic times and all that. Besides, he was looking forward to seeing how Webby fared against a reproduction of the Steerminator. When they were kids, they’d been terrified of Bulba. Had she gotten over her fears? Would she face them for her family’s sake? He didn’t know.

Hmm, maybe he ought to get some popcorn. This could be quite entertaining. Naturally, he wouldn’t let the Steerminator kill her, but deterring her from the others was a good start. The rest would follow.

It was only for a short while. Once he had completed his preparations, she’d understand why he had needed to isolate her. He still couldn’t believe she didn’t comprehend that she was light on her own or why she clung so determinedly to Dewey and her grandmother. Agent 22 was useless and Dewey was less than that. As for the pilot, he didn’t even enter the equation.

Perhaps he could eliminate the hostages discreetly and then work from there. If he could do it without Webby knowing, she might be more inclined to listen. On the other hand, if she found out he’d hurt them...no force in heaven or hell could protect him from her wrath. She would be a whirlwind of destruction which, although appealing, was terrifying in relation to what she could do to him.

No, best to play it safe for now. The Steerminator would bring her back to her room and he’d feed her scraps of information to keep her happy while he moved his plans forward. Time waited for no one.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, Webby could feel her injuries more acutely. Her stomach ached when she moved and she thought her shoulder had sustained either a bone-deep bruise or something worse. She didn’t have time to examine it more closely. That could wait until she’d found the others. So she gritted her beak against the pain coursing through her and made her way back through the dusty hallway until she reached the intersection where she’d started before being set upon by that robot.  
  
A shadow loomed over her and she looked up. A facsimile of Taurus Bulba sneered at her and her bowels turned to water. She uttered a short squeak and ignored her trembling limbs. What he was doing here? He shouldn’t be here. Her throat constricted in terror and she remembered the last time she’d encountered him in FOWL. When she was a small child, he’d terrified her and she’d wet herself (another thing Black Heron wouldn’t let her live down). While she’d like to think she was a little better off now than she’d been, she was still petrified.  
  
This didn’t make sense. How could he be here? Why would Merle have teamed up with someone that had scared the crap out of them as kids? Bulba leered at her and she whimpered, so scared she could hardly think straight. She’d seen what Bulba could do without trying. He’d killed people without a second thought and the ease with which he’d done it had given her nightmares for months.  
  
Steelbeak had prevented him from pursuing her in terms of tormenting her, though he didn’t keep her from seeing Bulba’s grisly handiwork. Bulba had resented what FOWL had done for him and in the short time he’d lingered in HQ, he’d left a lasting impression. Her mouth dried out and her legs buckled, sending her to the floor.  
  
The voice that issued from Bulba’s throat was not him, however. It was Merle.  
  
“You’ve strayed too far into the lair. I don’t want to hurt you, Webby, but you can’t keep poking your beak where it doesn’t belong. I promise you I’ll tell you everything when I’m ready. For now, you need to accompany the droid and go back to sleep.”  
  
Merle’s voice cut through her terror like a hot knife through butter. Still feeling shaky, she leaned against a nearby wall and pushed herself to her feet. Her heart raced; this could be a trick, designed to force her to lower her guard. Bulba could be here to finish what he started with her and Dewey.  
  
Dewey. She bolted, worrying that Bulba had reached the others first and disposed of them before returning for her. The droid grabbed her by her wounded shoulder and wrenched her around, prompting a painful cry that she quickly suppressed. His metallic fingers dug into her shoulder and bone ground in the socket. Webby clenched her beak shut against a scream.  
  
“Stop…” she pleaded. How could he do this to her? He’d promised he wouldn’t hurt her. Had the droid grabbed her right shoulder by accident? No, she didn’t think so. She couldn’t afford to be that naive.  
  
“You need to return to bed, Webby.”  
  
“I need to find the others,” she retorted, tears springing to her eyes. “Let...go!”  
  
The droid dug his fingers in deeper and she gasped until, unable to suppress it, she screamed. The pain was enough to drive her to her knees again and she drew in a deep, staggering breath that was perilously close to a sob.  
  
“I can’t let you do that,” Merle said, implacable. “You can see them again, all in good time. But not now. They’re fine. They’re safe. I showed you that, didn’t I? Don’t you trust me?”  
  
“Not if you’re going to hurt me and keep me from them,” she retorted. The pain eclipsed everything else and she was pretty sure her shoulder was either dislocated or broken. Tears welled in her eyes. Steelbeak had never been so rough with her. Black Heron had, but only when it served a purpose. She had meant her injuries to teach a lesson. This was agony for agony’s sake.  
  
“They don’t need you. And you don’t need them. C’mon. Come back to bed.”  
  
The way he said it like they were lovers made her bristle. She wrenched her shoulder from the droid’s grasp and bolted, aware of the droid following her but desperate to escape. She only had Merle’s word they were still alive and right now, she found herself doubting it. Thankfully, her stomach didn’t impede her from darting and although the droid was fast, she was faster. She didn’t know how long she could sustain the spurt, so she had to make it count.  
  
It probably didn’t help that she didn’t know where she was going. Her next breath was a ragged sob and she barreled into another robot, this one a replica of the one she’d stabbed in the face. This one grabbed her arms and wrenched them behind her back. Pain whipped through her, so intense that it left spots in her vision, and she could barely breathe. Did Merle want her to beg for him to stop? Black Heron had taught her to be too proud to beg. Steelbeak had taught her that she needed to find a weakness, any weakness, and exploit it. But robots had no weaknesses, not when Webby was unarmed and injured.  
  
Her beak chattered and she could barely see through the tears streaming down her face. The robot forced her to her knees again.  
  
“Come back to bed,” Merle said. It was no longer an entreaty, but an order, and she was powerless to disobey. She struggled to no avail.  
  
“I need to see them,” she said and was thisclose to begging. “You have to let me see them. You can’t keep them from me.”  
  
“I told you--I’ll explain to you why I can’t let you do that later. For now, you need to trust me. You do trust me, don’t you, Webby?”  
  
“No!” she exploded. What little trust she’d had in him was eroding as the robot slapped a hand on her broken shoulder. She howled in pain and then sobbed, lowering her head in submission. Black Heron would say she was being pathetic. Steelbeak would have reprimanded her. She forced her head back up and willed herself to be stronger, to be better than this.  
  
Stretching her neck, she strained to see her surroundings. They had ended up near a stairway that she was willing to bet led to the dungeons where the others were being kept. That meant unless she’d missed her guess, that they’d heard her scream. Ashamed, she looked up at the Bulba replica.  
  
“That’s a shame,” Merle said, remorseful. “I’ll have to explain to you when the droids return you to your room. Now, are you going to keep fighting me?”  
  
“Yes,” she hissed through her clenched beak. She struggled harder and passed out from the agony coursing through her. When she came to again, it was to discover the droid carrying her in its arms. The pressure was off her shoulder and she rolled out of her arms and onto the floor. Unfortunately, she’d landed on her stomach and couldn’t push herself up. Her right arm was useless.  
  
“Webby…” Merle sounded exasperated. “You’re only hurting yourself. Stop. I promise I can patch you up, but you have to stop fighting me.”  
  
Her right arm was her dominant arm, but she could work around that. Black Heron and Steelbeak had taught her to be ambidextrous. She rolled around and pushed off with her left arm and the wall. Unsteady on her feet, she nonetheless managed to stand. Black spots appeared before her vision.  
  
“Let...them...go…” she breathed.  
  
Merle sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”  
  
A syringe popped out of the Bulba replica’s left index finger and she swayed, desperate to evade it. His right hand clapped onto her bad shoulder and between that and the shot coursing through her veins, she crashed into the floor. Her next breath was a jagged sob and she could feel her vision fading to black.  
  
“Dewey! Granny! Launchpad! Anyone!” she screamed or tried to. She feared it only came out as a faint whisper. “Help!”  
  
Her body went limp and her vision failed her. Semi-conscious, she could feel the droids carrying her, but could do nothing about it. Inside, she was quivering with both outrage and the distant pain that nonetheless perceived her consciousness. Why did Merle think she’d join him now? He’d hurt her and denied her the people she cared about. He was no better than Steelbeak…  
  
Black Heron seemed to lurk in her mind, sneering at her for having failed to defend herself. For that, she had no defense. She had permitted someone to get the jump on her and she was suffering the consequences. She could only hope that somehow, another opportunity would arise to free the others. As for now, she was in no position to do anything. She was a prisoner just as much as they were.

* * *

  
  
They froze when they heard Webby scream in pain. Mrs. Beakley roared, whipping out the chopsticks that held her hair together. At least, that’s what Dewey thought they were. They turned out to be sharp blades. Why hadn’t she brought them out before? Or did she think it would make no real difference? As it was, she attacked the iron bars of their cell with a vengeance. She maneuvered her arm around and set to freeing them.  
  
“Webby…” Dewey whispered as she screamed again. Her cries were haunting and Mrs. Beakley worked in a frenzy. The tip of one of the chopsticks broke off in the lock and, undaunted, she manipulated the broken edge until, to Dewey’s astonishment, the door swung open. She had one chopstick remaining and Dewey didn’t know whether it’d be enough to defend them with. But they had more important things to worry about.  
  
“What are they  _doing_ to her up there?” Launchpad asked, perturbed. Mrs. Beakley rushed through the door and gestured for the others to follow.  
  
“It’ll be nothing compared to what I’ll do to them,” she growled. “Hold on, Webby. We’re coming.”  
  
He didn’t ask her how she’d know where to find Webby. It was enough that they were free and ambulatory. Mrs. Beakley’s face was pinched in a combination of anxiety and pure rage. When Webby screamed a third time, Dewey’s stomach twisted and felt like it’d been turned inside out. He seriously thought he’d be sick. Whatever had gotten the drop on Webby must’ve been strong as hell.  
  
The sudden silence struck him as ominous. He hoped Mrs. Beakley had a plan beyond stabbing everything that stood between her and her granddaughter. Otherwise, they were sunk. He had no idea what they were facing out there and whether she could defeat it, particularly if Webs couldn’t. Bile burned the inside of his throat.  
  
 _Hang on._  That was all he could say to her.  _Hang on. We’re coming._  
  


* * *

  
  
Webby woke up angry. She didn’t even remember why she was furious, only that she wanted to wring someone’s neck. As she regained consciousness, her shoulder was numb, as was her entire right arm. Perplexed, she opened her eyes and stared at it. It was encased in plaster that pulsated, presumably sending out healing waves. No longer afflicted by the agony she’d endured before, she pushed herself to her feet off the small cot she’d found herself on and sought out Merle.  
  
She didn’t have far to go. He was in the next room, which was a laboratory. Unlike the last lab she’d encountered, this was outfitted with new equipment and he was bent over a computer chip. She grabbed him with her left arm and spun him around before he had a chance to solder anything. Startled, he dropped the blowtorch and it blew itself out on the floor.  
  
“Webby! You’re awake!”  
  
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded in a tight voice. “First you separate me from my family. Then your robots break my shoulder. Then you add injury to insult, knock me out, and ignore me.”  
  
“I know, I know, I screwed up,” he said. “But you wouldn’t listen to me.”  
  
“Because  _you_  wouldn’t give me back my family!” she retorted, her chest constricting. “Where are Granny, Dewey, and Launchpad? What did you do to them?”  
  
“All in good time--” he started and she grabbed him by the collar.  
  
“I was raised by Steelbeak and Black Heron, in case you forgot,” she snapped. “They didn’t put up with bullshit and I’m not going to either. Where. Is. My. Family.”  
  
Sweat trickled down his neck. “They’re safe. I swear it.”  
  
“Then why won’t you let me see them? Why did you separate us in the first place? If you want me to join you so badly, then why are you doing everything wrong?”  
  
“Because you wouldn’t listen to me!” he exploded. He shoved at her and she responded by pinning him against the table. Her blood was up and like hell was she backing off now.  
  
“I’m not your possession to move as you want.”  
  
A robot moved up into her view; it was the same one that had a hole in its face, her knife still protruding from it. Apparently, it was mobile again, which unnerved her, but not enough to cool her rage.  
  
“The prisoners have escaped,” the droid said in a monotone. Webby froze. They’d...escaped? They were on the loose in the lair? She kneed Merle in the groin and then bolted, in a hurry to find them before Merle’s goons did. She heard him gasping behind her and she snorted. Yeah, there was no chance she was joining him now. She was grateful he’d healed her shoulder, but it was his fault she’d gotten injured anyway.  
  
Her stomach was bruised too, but she ignored it as best she could. Behind her, she heard the droid giving chase and she hissed through her clenched beak.  
  
“Dewey! Granny! Launchpad! Anyone!” she called. With her shoulder in a cast, she could focus on speed, though she mourned the loss of Stabby and Pinchy. A knife went sailing over her head and she hissed, ducking in time. That had to be one of hers. Her heart beat double time.  
  
“Dewey!  _Granny_!” she cried, louder and desperation straining her voice. If they’d escaped and the robots found them first, they might kill them and then ask questions later. Webby’s heart was in her throat and tears burned the corners of her eyes. No, she wouldn’t let it come to that. She would destroy everything in her path before she let something from FOWL hurt her family again.  
  
“Webby!”  
  
It was faint, but it was Dewey. Heartened, she ran toward the sound. Barely looking where she was going, she kept her head down and barreled through the halls.  
  
“Dewey!”  
  
“Webby!” This time, it was her grandmother and she pelted willy-nilly, focusing on locating them. Whatever happened next, they’d face it together.  
  
It took her a minute to realize that no matter how hard or how far she ran, the voices grew no closer. She halted, catching her breath, and a robot sidled up to her. She eyed it with distaste. It was chrome-plated, shiny under the lights, and had blonde hair in a bob with a ribbon atop. Self-conscious, she touched her pink ribbon. That was creepy.  
  
It was slim and trim, with a large bust, which she didn’t know why a robot needed.  
  
“Webby!” the robot trilled, the distant sound of Dewey and her grandmother combined.  
  
No...no. She screamed, desperation and frustration fueling her, and swung at the robot. It caught her fist and flipped her over its head. She landed hard on her back, panted, and sprang up again. It was a dirty trick. They’d never been there at all. Merle had no intention of letting them find her.  
  
Homicidal rage coursed through her. The only thing worse than this would’ve been if the robots had grabbed Lena too. She worked on steadying her breathing and fought not to see the world through a red haze. When she got her hands on Merle again, he was done for. Right now, she didn’t care how many times Huey and the others had told her she was good at heart.  
  
She wanted to kill Merle. She wanted to rip out his throat and watch him bleed out for this.  
  
 _You gave me hope and then you took it away. That’s enough to make anyone dangerous. God knows what it’ll do to me._  
  
She was shaking in fury, practically choking on it.  
  
Then, faintly, from another direction, she heard Dewey call for her again. But she was wise to the robot’s tricks this time. With her right arm encased in a cast, she punched the robot before her with her left, a vicious uppercut that spun the robot’s head around. She followed it up with a roundhouse kick.  
  
“Webby, wait!” Merle pleaded through the robot. “Webby, I’m sorry! I know what I did was nasty, but you can’t--you can’t--”  
  
“You don’t tell me what I do and don’t do,” she spat. “You don’t keep me from Dewey and Granny. You don’t keep me from the people who keep me sane. I don’t care what history we had. It’s over.”  
  
She kicked the robot over and then kicked its face in. The vocal projector still worked, but she was no longer paying attention. She couldn’t afford to pay attention.  
  
“Webby!”  
  
This voice was nearer and she cocked her head. She didn’t want to believe it was Dewey, though.  
  
“Prove it’s you,” she called back.  
  
“Prove...what?” Dewey asked, sounding confused.  
  
Three figures appeared at the end of the hall and her heart leaped. Tears in her eyes, she raced down the hall and into his arms. Before she reached him, however, a robot materialized, grabbing him by the throat. Unpleasant memories of Taurus Bulba doing the same besieged her.  
  
“Not one step further, Webbigail,” Merle said. “Or I’ll kill him.”


	8. Chapter 8

The robot squeezed Dewey’s throat, making the teenage boy gasp and struggle to draw in breath. If Webby had thought she was angry before, she was practically incandescent with rage now. Merle would kill Dewey to prove a point and if he did that, she’d destroy him. She’d kill Merle, slowly and painfully, and then raze this place to the ground. Her whole body trembled and her beak clenched shut tight. Her fists were balled and she was breathing hard through her nostrils. She was going to kill him. She would kill Merle and leave his carcass for the vultures to pick over. No, she’d leave him, still alive, for the meat-eaters to tear apart. He would be tied down and feel every rip and tear of their beaks as they wrenched flesh from him.  
  
“Webby!” her grandmother called and the robot shook Dewey as a warning to keep her distance from her granddaughter. Dewey was choking, his face turning blue, and Webby shifted, ready to pounce. But she didn’t move fast enough.   
  
Launchpad did. Launchpad, angrier than she’d ever seen him, tackled the robot about the middle and yanked its hands apart. Dewey went flying, coughing and gasping, and Webby rushed forward to him. She swallowed past a lump in her throat and held him against her so tightly they’d need the Jaws of Life to pry him from her. Angry tears burned in her eyes.  
  
The robot snarled, whirling, and she clutched Dewey like a life preserver. Other than a stale sweat smell, he appeared no worse for the wear.   
  
“Webs…” Dewey coughed, his voice rough from having been strangled. “Webs...I’m okay.”  
  
“Show yourself,” Webby snarled at the robot. “Stop hiding behind your toys and show yourself. Now.”  
  
“I can explain,” Merle pleaded. “Let me explain.”  
  
Mrs. Beakley joined Webby’s side. She was staring at the cast that enclosed her right shoulder and down her right arm. When she rested her fingers on it, Webby couldn’t feel it. Reluctantly, she relinquished a little of her grasp on her boyfriend so he could breathe, but that was the extent of it. The feel of his body against hers was reassuring.  
  
“What happened to you?” Mrs. Beakley said and then rounded on the robot. “Show yourself. Now!”  
  
“Launchpad!” Dewey cried. The robot had spun, picking Launchpad up by the ankle, and threw him into a nearby wall. He groaned, slamming hard into it, and fell still. Dewey struggled in her arms to reach the pilot and, with a feeling of great loss, she permitted him to leave her and scurry to Launchpad’s side. She was still quivering and her throat was tight. Mrs. Beakley hugged her as tightly as she’d been hugging Dewey.  
  
“What happened?” Mrs. Beakley demanded.  
  
“Are you breathing?” Dewey said, oblivious to the females. “Please be breathing. Please.”  
  
He knelt and took Launchpad’s pulse with his fingers. Either he wasn’t skilled at it or he was too frantic to do it properly, because he fumbled and moaned. Seeing him in pain, after having almost witnessed his neck being broken, was more than Webby could take.   
  
“Show yourself,” Webby repeated, her body stiff with impotent rage. “Show yourself or I swear I will dismantle this lair around you and then tear your feathers off one at a time.”  
  
“I...I understand you’re upset,” Merle said. “We can talk about this.”  
  
“Get over here,” she spat. “I’m serious. You don’t imprison my family and then almost kill them and get away with it. I will pluck you like a hen and roast you over a pit, Merle. Remember that time we ate a SHUSH agent for almost a week because Steelbeak wanted pork? That’s gonna be you.”  
  
Mrs. Beakley looked slightly ill at the anecdote. “Webbigail. Please.”  
  
“He kept you from me,” Webby said, staring at her grandmother. “He almost broke Dewey’s neck just now. I don’t know if Launchpad is unconscious or dead. Why should I show him any mercy?”  
  
“We’re supposed to be the good guys, Webby,” Dewey said as he rested his head on Launchpad’s chest to detect a heartbeat that way. “We’re not supposed to sink to their level.”  
  
“He hurt you and you want me to let him get away with it?!” she shrieked. The concept was unthinkable to her. “How can you possibly think that’s okay?”  
  
“I understand you’re angry,” Mrs. Beakley said. “But killing him won’t undo what happened to us. And Dewey’s right. You can’t sink to their level. You left FOWL because you’re better than that. Because you wanted to be with us and all that entailed.”  
  
Her chest was tight and she wanted to scream. How could her grandmother think like this?   
  
“Merle deserves to die,” she spat.  
  
“And who are you to determine that?” her grandmother shot back.   
  
“I…” Her throat constricted painfully. She was at a loss. “Granny, he captured you, Dewey, and Launchpad. He might’ve killed Launchpad--”  
  
“No, he’s okay,” Dewey interrupted. “He’s still breathing and his heart’s a little jumpy, but he’ll be fine.”  
  
“I don’t understand,” Webby said. “Why don’t you want justice?”  
  
“Is it justice?” her grandmother countered. “Or is it vengeance?”  
  
Webby huffed. “Yes, no. I don’t know? What does it matter? Dead is dead. He deserves to die for what he’s done.”  
  
“Webby!” Merle said. “I’m coming. Hold on. I’ll be right there. Don’t make any hasty decisions.”  
  
Her chest heaved with emotion and Dewey, after positioning Launchpad in a better pose, moved over to her again. He lifted her hand to his beak and kissed it. She was gasping, not sure if she was about to cry or scream again. Dewey touched her cheek and then, though she didn’t want the kiss right now, didn’t want to be calmed down, he kissed her on the beak.   
  
“Webby,” Dewey murmured. “You’re a good person. Good people don’t kill people. They let the law mete out justice.”  
  
“You’re upset,” Mrs. Beakley said. “Steelbeak would have encouraged you to kill Merle. He would have seen him as weak and useless, not to mention in the way, callous, and touching what he considered his property.”  
  
Webby was on board with everything her grandmother said, up until she added--”Are we your property?”  
  
“N-no…” she said. Her hand fisted in Dewey’s shirt. “But...you’re mine...you’re my family…”  
  
“And you’re in pain because you thought you lost us, possibly for good,” Mrs. Beakley said. She brushed Webby’s hair back and kissed her on the temple. “But that doesn’t give you carte blanche to kill someone.”  
  
“It’s the right thing to do,” she said and then stopped. No, Steelbeak and Black Heron would have said that. They would have agreed that the only course of action was to kill Merle and be done with it. She attempted to awkwardly hug her grandmother back with her bad arm. It barely moved.  
  
“Is it?” her grandmother answered. Dewey turned her head back toward him and kissed her again. She kissed him back this time and moved her hand from his shirt to the back of his neck. They pulled away and rested foreheads together.   
  
“I love you,” Dewey whispered.  
  
“I love you too,” she whispered back. The impotent rage still thrashed around inside of her, but it was diminishing. Mrs. Beakley was stroking her hair and Dewey rubbed her back.   
  
“I love you,” Mrs. Beakley murmured, kissing her on the temple again. “I love you and I know you’re stronger than Steelbeak’s and Black Heron’s tutelage.”  
  
“Webby,” Merle said and she shifted, remaining in her grandmother’s arms and within Dewey’s reach, but still turned to face Merle. Dewey intertwined his fingers with hers.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Merle said. “None of this went according to plan. I thought--I thought I could convince you to join me. I know you hate FOWL as much as I do. I know you think you’re dark, but you’re still light. You’re still gorgeous and beautiful. Look at how they’re flocking around you. I just wanted to be part of that.”  
  
“No,” she spat. “You wanted what Dewey has. You wanted me. But you wanted me as a possession, not as a person. You keep talking about me like I’m light, like I’m a concept you can own. Is that what you really want? To own me? Because it’s not going to happen.”  
  
Merle moved closer and Dewey growled. He and her grandmother interposed themselves between Merle and Webby.  
  
“I think you’ve done enough damage here,” Mrs. Beakley snapped. “Why don’t you let us go before things get any uglier?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Merle said, ignoring her and focusing on Webby. “I know I can’t convince you to stay, not now, not after what I’ve done. I thought we could be something. I don’t know what there is left for us.”  
  
“There never was an ‘us’,” she retorted. Dewey had an arm about her waist now and Merle’s eyes narrowed at it.   
  
“I should let you three go, shouldn’t I?” Merle said softly, sadly. He moved closer to her and again, Dewey and Mrs. Beakley shifted so that they prevented him from reaching her. Dewey brushed his beak against her cheek.  
  
“If you try to touch me, I can’t be held accountable for my actions,” she spat. “No matter what Granny and Dewey said. You hurt them, you hurt me. It was a stupid thing to do. You’re lucky I’m listening to them and not to what I was taught.”  
  
“I’ll let you go,” Merle said. “In exchange, you won’t tell SHUSH where I am.”  
  
“No,” Mrs. Beakley snapped. “No deal. You have to know that we are here in an official capacity as SHUSH representatives. And we were all outfitted with tracking devices, regardless. SHUSH knows where we are and, more importantly, where you are. It’s too late to back out.”  
  
“I see. Well, then...I won’t stop you,” he said and waved a hand. He smiled, however, a cruel smile and his eyes shone with malice. “But I won’t make it easy for you, either.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Forty-five minutes and two near-experiences later, Dewey was sore, out of breath, and severely irritated with Merle. Throughout it all, Webby and Mrs. Beakley had shown their training, holding the robots at bay long enough for Dewey and Launchpad to make their escape. The man was concussed, which meant he was spacier than usual. The sheer amount of opposition they encountered, combined with Launchpad’s state, was starting to weigh on him.   
  
“If you just surrender, Webby, I’ll let the others go,” Merle announced through the loudspeaker. “I swear it.”  
  
“I don’t trust you,” she spat. They were in another featureless hallway, just as bland as the ones before, and Dewey didn’t know how the two females were keeping track of their surroundings. He’d lost his way almost an hour ago.  
  
“I swear on my life, Webbigail. I’ll let them go and they can return to Duckburg. I won’t harm a feather on their heads. But you have to stay here. With me.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re being creepy again,” Dewey muttered. Webby’s gaze flicked to him and he could see, to his dismay, that she was tempted. That she would let them go in exchange for remaining captive again. She loved them that much.  
  
“And how much is your word worth?” she countered, though the ire had dissipated. “How do I know you’ll keep it?”   
  
“Webby, no!” Mrs. Beakley said. “We all leave together or we all stay here. I am not leaving you behind again. Over my dead body.”  
  
“I didn’t hurt them before,” Merle pointed out. “I only attacked when it looked like you were going to leave with them. And I only attacked you because you tried to leave me. Stay. I promise I won’t touch you and I promise the others will go free.”  
  
Dewey could see the wheels turning in his girlfriend’s mind and did not like the conclusion she was coming to. He stepped forward, intertwining their fingers, and ignored Merle huffing, jealous.   
  
“Webs,” he said. “If you let us go, you might never see us again.”  
  
“I know…” she whispered back. Her gaze was distraught. She stepped back, staring at him as if she wished to memorize him. She attempted to unthread her hand from his, but he wouldn’t let her.   
  
“I won’t let you do it,” he said. “I won’t let you throw your life away, again, because of the whims of a villain who thinks he has a right to you.  
  
“Together or not at all.”  
  
Webby hesitated. He knew she didn’t want to lose them again and she threw her arm around him. She was shaking and he hugged her to him.   
  
Mrs. Beakley came up to them and hugged them too. She kissed Webby’s temple.  
  
“It’s your choice, dear, but...you spent most of your life without love and affection. Without us. Do you really want to live like that again?”  
  
“No,” she whispered. She bit the inside of her cheek.  
  
“I love you,” Mrs. Beakley whispered back.  
  
“I love you too, Granny,” she said. “And I have an idea. Just...follow my lead.”  
  
“Wait, what?” Dewey said. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“All right, Merle,” she announced, separating from them. “I agree to your terms. Let the others go and I’ll stay here, willingly.”  
  
“No, you can’t!” Launchpad gasped. Webby had left him out of the loop by accident. But...she wasn’t serious, right? She wasn’t really going to let them leave and then make herself miserable here, right? When he reached for her again, she moved away, putting her back to him. It hurt more than he thought it would.  
  
“Do we have a deal?” she asked.  
  
Mrs. Beakley’s face was inscrutable. She tugged Dewey away from Webby and he cried out, anguished.   
  
“You can’t seriously let her do this!” he objected. “You fought so hard for her to come back and now you’re going to let her walk away?”  
  
“She’s made her decision,” Mrs. Beakley said and shot Webby a searching gaze. Webby gave a small, barely perceptible nod. Follow my lead, she’d said. He gazed back at her and it was like a mask had fallen over her features. The last time he’d seen her like that, it’d been when they’d first met. It struck him to the heart.  
  
“Webby, what are you--” he started and she shook her head.  
  
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” she said. “I’ll come to you, Merle. Just show the others how to get home.”  
  
Merle sounded smug, as well he might, considering that he’d just won. Dewey hated his stupid face.   
  
“Of course,” he reassured her. “In time, you’ll discover this was for the best. I’ll have the nearest robot guide you to me and another guide the others to the exit. The others will be powered down, as will the other lair defenses. I’ll let them leave without touching them, I promise.”  
  
“I believe you,” she said and then beckoned to a nearby droid. “Lead the way.”  
  
“Webby--” he protested.  
  
“No,” she said, cutting him off. “Goodbye, Dewey. Granny. Launchpad. Maybe we’ll meet again someday.”  
  
Then, with the robot guiding her generating a forcefield about them to prevent Dewey from reaching Webby again, they walked off. His heart in his throat, he turned to Mrs. Beakley.  
  
“How could you let that happen?” he demanded.  
  
“Yeah,” Launchpad said, outraged. “I’m surprised at you, Mrs. B. I thought you loved her. How could you let her walk away from you?”  
  
“I’ll explain it to you later, Launchpad, when we’re back on the plane,” Mrs. Beakley sighed.  
  
“No, explain it to me. I want to know how you could let her stay in a hellhole,” he demanded. Mrs. Beakley groaned, rolling her eyes, and whispered into his ear.  
  
“She’s clearly up to something,” she said in a voice that that only the two males could hear.   
  
“And that something is leaving us!” Launchpad protested.  
  
Mrs. Beakley facepalmed. “Come on.”  
  
She dragged him along and he kept calling after Webby. Dewey wished he wouldn’t; it only made the heart ache worse. He wanted so badly to be back with her that it took all of his courage to turn his back on her. He had to trust her. After all, she knew what she was doing, right? She’d said she had a plan.  
  
The robot that accompanied them seemed to be powered down, only capable of walking without exhibiting any weaponry. Dewey felt like every step he took further away from Webby was like a string stretched between them growing taut. If they went too far, it’d snap and he’d lose her. It was so hard to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Everything in him wanted to run back for her. She was injured. She had PTSD from FOWL. In no way she did she belong with Merle. If anything, she belonged with them, her true family.  
  
Dewey stopped dead when he heard Webby singing. They were so far apart that her voice was barely audible, but he caught the words. It was the same song Della had sung when she came back to Earth and that she said she’d sung to them before they hatched. Dewey swallowed back tears.  
  
She’d be back with them. She’d promised. He had to trust her.   
  
Somehow, she’d come back to them.  
  


* * *

  
  
Merle was overjoyed that Webby had made the right decision. He could see through the cameras and the droid that she was moving this way. Her head was down and her left fist was balled. Somehow, he’d have to make up to her what he’d done earlier. She had to forgive him, didn’t she? If she’d chosen him, that meant she’d already started, right?  
  
She arrived in his office with her body taut with tension. He ran through his head the consequences of her actions. She’d let the others escape, which meant they were abandoning her and taking their plane. Therefore, she’d be unable to leave the island. He grinned and looked up at her from his chemistry set.  
  
“Webs!” he said, spreading his arms wide to her. “I’m so glad you came back. And I’m so sorry for what I did. You have no idea. I didn’t mean to scare you or hurt you.”  
  
She advanced, looking into the video screens. Though her face was a mask, a moment of fleeting worry passed over it. She pressed her fingers to the screen and her family. The longing was plain, but she shunted it away.  
  
“You forgive me, don’t you?” he pressed. He stepped closer to her. “Webby, I love you.”  
  
Her gaze remained locked onto the screen and then, slowly, she turned to him. There were no security droids in this room--he’d turned them all off. The only droids were the ones that had brought her here and her friends outside. And the former had powered off as soon as it had reached them.  
  
“The robots are all off, right? No matter what happens?” she asked and his feathers stood on end.  
  
“Yeah, why?” he asked. He took her hands. “I know it’s hard for you to walk away from what you thought you had, but I promise you, this is better. So much better. How well do they really know you, anyway? If Dewey knew the real you, he’d cower away. And your grandmother doesn’t know what you’ve done to survive in FOWL. SHUSH agents wouldn’t be able to stomach it.”  
  
“My granny is stronger than you think she is. After all, she dealt with my absence for ten years without losing her mind.”  
  
“It was her fault!” he countered. “You know it is. You know she should have been keeping a closer eye on you. It was almost like she wanted Steelbeak to kidnap you. If she’d really cared, she never would have let you out of her sight.”  
  
Her eyes narrowed.  
  
“Dewey isn’t weak. And neither is my granny,” she said. He reached for a button to reactivate the robots, just in case, and she spun him around, wrenched his arm behind his back, and pinned him against the controls. The mask slipped and she was enraged.  
  
“I can explain!”  
  
“Save it,” she spat. “Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize manipulation when I’ve been manipulated all my life? Did you really think I’d mistake your so-called affection for the real thing? Dewey and Granny love me. You want me as a possession. You may tell yourself that you’re in love with me, but you’re in love with the idea of me. And you’re not getting that. Now, you have two choices. One, you can let me walk out of here and not reactivate the droids, which I have no faith that you’d do.  
  
“Or two, I’ll knock you out, tie you up, and leave you for SHUSH. I know you’d prefer the first option, but after how you’ve treated everyone here, you don’t deserve it.”  
  
She leaned in close to him. “Granny and Dewey had to talk me out of killing you for what you did. I’m giving you a chance to escape with your life intact. Don’t squander it.”  
  
She released him only to punch him hard in the face. While he was still dazed from that, she flung him to the floor, pinned him beneath her foot, and then kicked him across the room to a table which had duct tape on it. He attempted to stand--she kicked him to his knees again. Then, using her beak to tear off strips of duct tape, she kicked him onto his stomach, straddled him, and set to work binding him. One handed. He would’ve been impressed if the look in her eyes didn’t promise murder.  
  
She was Steelbeak’s daughter, in addition to being Agent 22’s granddaughter. Somehow, he’d forgotten.  
  
Once she was done binding him, she surveyed him and kissed him on the beak. Startled, eyes wide, he gaped at her.  
  
“That’s for how you were back in FOWL HQ,” she said. And then she pulled back her fist. “And this is for everything after.”  
  
She punched him in the face and after that, he knew nothing.  
  


* * *

  
  
It took her a while to figure out where her family had gone. She hoped they hadn’t taken her words to heart and left without her. Thankfully, Merle didn’t believe in cleaning the lair, so wherever there were trails in the dust, that meant someone must’ve been by relatively recently. She could determine which were duck prints and which were droid prints, since the droids walked on high heels, save for the Taurus Bulba replica. She passed it on her way out and blew it a raspberry.  
  
When she heard the Sunchaser startup, she picked up the pace.   
  
“Dewey! Granny! Launchpad!”  
  
 _Back on the ship…_  
  
“We have to wait for her,” Dewey said, stubborn. “She’s coming. I know she is.”  
  
“I dunno. She seemed pretty convincing back there,” Launchpad said.  
  
“Weren’t you the one telling me to have faith in her?” Dewey retorted, exasperated.  
  
“Quiet,” Mrs. Beakley huffed. “I hear someone running.”  
  
Webby burst out through the back door and pelted toward the ship. She dashed up the stairs and flung herself into Dewey’s arms. Dewey caught her, just barely, and rocked on his heels.  
  
“Webby!” he exclaimed. “Why are your knuckles bleeding?”  
  
“It was for a good cause,” she said. She turned toward her grandmother and Launchpad. With a small smile, she said, “Launchpad, take us home.”  
  
“You’re not working with him, right?” Launchpad said.  
  
“No,” Webby replied. “That was a trick to get him to lower his guard. He’s all tied up and waiting for SHUSH to grab him. All in all, I’d say the mission was a success.”  
  
She grinned at her grandmother and Mrs. Beakley smiled back.  
  
“I knew you’d succeed, Webby,” Mrs. Beakley said and pulled her into a tight hug. “Let’s go home.”  
  


* * *

  
  
She was oddly psyched for her next mission, though she hoped it wouldn’t have anything to do with a FOWL agent she already knew. SHUSH wanted her to take it easy and let her injuries heal. Webby was too excited to sit still. She remembered reading about the McDuck/Agent 22 adventures and she finally felt like she was in one. Or had been.   
  
Whatever else came, she was looking forward to it. She thought, after everything that had happened, she might just be able to handle it.


End file.
